


Only The Results

by WriteAnon



Series: Achieving Heaven Through Hell [3]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Helluva Boss (Web Series), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Vinegar Doppio, Diavolo and Vinegar Doppio Don't Share a Body (kinda), Doppio is a good boy, Gen, Implied Sexual Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 87,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteAnon/pseuds/WriteAnon
Summary: Many things can damn a soul, be it willful malice or mere circumstance, everyone in Hell earned their spot in the afterlife. However, there are some cases where even the most vile, wrathful, and unforgiving denizens can only scratch their heads in disbelief and wonder 'did someone Up There make a mistake?'Moonchild is a gentle soul beset by monsters on all sides, languishing in an afterlife not of his own making. One day, he meets the Princess of Hell and is sent down a road of self-discovery that could have lasting repercussions for the Infernal Plane.
Relationships: Blitzo/Stolas (Helluva Boss), Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Series: Achieving Heaven Through Hell [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033401
Comments: 142
Kudos: 80





	1. Unconscious

**Author's Note:**

> Let's clear this one up right away  
> Moonchild = Vinegar Doppio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The awesome titlecard was made by very talented TheLastUnicornInOz
> 
> Be sure to let her know she's great and give her a follow
> 
> Here:  
> https://www.deviantart.com/thelastunicorninoz

ONLY THE RESULTS

Chapter 1: Unconscious 

The train clattered down the uneven track, the car jolting and swaying. The occupants, crammed in tight, could barely sway with it for the congestion. The lights flickered, the air hazy for the tobacco and crack smoke that hung in lazy ribbons in the stifling, still air of the cab. Over this was the overpowering stench of B.O. and sickly sweet, cloying perfume. 

A subway in Hell.

The occupants were the standard fare of the lower classes in the infernal realm, imps and hellhounds mixed in with new and lesser demons, each so different in form and size as to drastically exacerbate the already cramped conditions of the train car. Any one of the frequent, unpredictable jolts would send one passenger stumbling into another, where fire or spikes or horns so some other hazardous protuberance may await them.

Tails and tentacles littered the floor, often tread on, inevitably leading to harsh words and, not infrequently, a gruesome, bloody scuffle. Such a thing was happening at that moment, in fact. Somewhere else in the car, curses and growls broke into screams and roars, followed shortly by the thick, metallic stench of blood mixing with the smokey, acrid air. 

A gunshot cracked and echoed in the cramped metal car, causing a smallish fish-demon to flinch. He was alone in this reaction, nary a jolt or blink given by the jaded, miserable crowd. The fish-demon settled, his pale, lightly freckled face flushing somewhat in embarrassment as the single smooth rose-colored tentacle atop his head curled across his forehead like a coiled bang of hair. He cast his fuchsia eyes back out the window, suitcase on his lap.

He was below-average height for a demon, barely six feet tall, and was possessed of a youthful, elegant beauty. He wore snug-fitting blue jeans and a purple sweater over a black tank-top, the bands of which were visible through the wide v-neck of the sweater, exposing his toned chest. He preferred turtlenecks, but his boss insisted on a more exposing ensemble. His boss was the reason why he was sitting there at all. A low-level demon like him would otherwise have had to stand, but being in his boss’ service entitled him to certain benefits in travel and other areas.

It was a small boon, but a boon nonetheless.

Unfortunately for the meek fish-demon, these boons made him stand out, and his nervous flinch had attracted the wrong kind of eyes. Blood in the water.

A low bleating tone sounded in the terminal as the train rolled in, its glowing cyan eyes glaring in the dark tunnel as it approached. A demon tossed a pair of battered, screaming imps onto the track as the train rolled in. Neither the train nor the waiting crowd gave any indication they noticed, the train rolling to a stop underscored by the gristly wet tearing of flesh and the muted crunch of bone.

“South-East Imp City,” the intercom growled. “Now in South-East Imp City.”

The masses shuffled out of the train and onto the terminal, dispersing as they set about the rest of their dreary pointless afterlives. The slender fish demon slipped through the crowd, careful not to tread on any bodyparts or bump into any shoulders. He hurried up the crowded stairs and out into Imp City, seemingly unaware of the trio following him. Imp City was, by and large, a stye even by Hell’s standards. Garbage littered the filthy, cracked sidewalks, overflowing from garbage cans that had not been moved in so long as to have become fused to the ground by compacted filth. Imps stood in circles around blazing dumpsters, burning away the trash to ‘empty’ the containers. Corpses and drug paraphernalia lay scattered about like cigarette butts, the stripped carcasses of cars stood on jacks long-since rusted to the frames.

The fish-demon continued on as though his surroundings didn’t even register, much less the trio twenty paces behind him, very obviously keeping their distance. The tentacle acting as his hair slithered down his forehead and over his eye. He didn’t glance over his shoulder, instead taking a sharp turn down a dilapidated alley. The demonic trio broke into a sprint and skidded around the corner.

They scanned the alley, it was a dead end and piled high with garbage, but the sissy-fish was nowhere to be seen. The lead demon clapped his companion’s shoulder, pointing to the slightly askew manhole cover in the center of the alley.

“Aww gawrsh, fellas,” said one of the demons, walking forward as another moved off to his flank. “Looks like he gave us the slip.”

“Shame,” said the burly demon standing at the mouth of the alley. “I was lookin’ forward to some fish’n’chips.”

They silently approached the manhole, their eyes glowing above their wide, fang-filled grins. A taloned hand shot down, grabbing the heavy steel lid and hurling it high into the air. They looked down into the inky blackness, there was no one there.

“Huh,” grunted one of them. “Maybe he’s in the access tunnel?”

“Aw, fuck this! I ain’t scraping through imp-shit for a wallet and a suitcase!” The other growled, turning away and heading out of the alley. “Let’s bounce.”

“Man, I actually wanted fish’n’chips…”

“We’ll roll some imps or somethin’, I dunno!”

After a few minutes of relative silence, one of the piled garbage bags shifted, and out from between the slimy bags emerged the fish-demon. “Phew! That was close!”

He emerged from the garbage, his clothes covered in detritus. He fished out his suitcase and opened it, revealing a pristine set of his current ensemble. In a smooth, practiced motion, slipped out of his ruined clothes and into a new set, setting off down the street as though nothing had ever happened. Before long he hailed a taxi and was gone.

* * *

Near the edges of Imp City, far away from the transit systems of the city, was an estate. It stood out against the dirty slums like a candle in the dark. In the middle of several acres of expertly maintained gardens was a vast, gothic mansion baring the sigil of a Goetic Prince; this was the estate of Prince Stolas. More than a few heads turned when the Prince announced he would be building his illustrious base of operations so near to the abject slums of the Bad End, but one of the many boons such a rank offered was that few would survive questioning the decision.

He walked in through the front door and handed the aromatic suitcase off to one of the attending staff. The butler, a short, squat imp, was hardly moved by the stench of garbage emanating from the black-leather Samsonite, and wordlessly dropped it into a nearby incinerator chute. He rung a little silver bell and another, smaller imp butler appeared with another suitcase, handing it to the fish-demon.

“Thank you, Francois.”

“Monsieur Moonchild,” Francois said, nodding respectfully.

Moonchild made his way up the grand staircase and down the hall, entering Prince Stolas’ home office, taking a seat behind his work desk. He busied himself with organizing the paperwork, reviewing the docket, humming happily to himself as he brushed his ‘bangs’ over his eye. The future unwound before him, sights and sounds and impressions of his own thoughts. The phone would ring and he would pick it up. It would be an Overlord by the name of Victus, he would request that ‘the feathery sodomite would stop defiling my son’ and then launch into a tirade of the most unspeakably foul language, so much so that Moonchild in the present blushed.

The phone call would be interrupted by Her Highness smashing in through the door, her eyes glowing, demonic aura lashing like living flames. She would demand to see her husband who, in a display of shockingly poor timing, would exit his office with a sweaty, disheveled imp in tow. The carnage that ensued was legendary, even in Hell. Moonchild got the distinct impression that he would be one of the many casualties in the ensuing spat between minor gods.

Unaffected, Moonchild pressed a button on the phone and opened a line to Prince Stolas. “Your wife will be by in 89 seconds, My Lord. She’s in a bad mood today.”

“T-thank you, Moonie, you’re a l-life-saver!” Came a husky, panting reply.

“Happy to help, My Lord.”

His hand snapped out in an instant, picking up the phone the barest instant before it would ring. He never could quite explain it, but the mere sound of a phone ringing made him… anxious.

He just could not abide the sound, the insistent, piercing sound, carrying with it the whims of some unseen entity, their demands unknown but urgent.

“Hello, Prince Stolas’ office, how may I–” He began to say, interrupted by the predicted stream of vitriol. “My Lord the Prince is indisposed at the moment, may I take a message?”

“–cut a new cock-hole in his chest and fuck his–”

Moonchild dutifully dictated the psychotic rant, smiling serenely; as far as jobs in Hell went, this one wasn’t so bad. “Very good, sir. I’ll see if I can schedule a call-back. Does Tuesday work for you?”

“–Rip his heart out through his asshole and shove it–”

“Understood, sir.”

A low, keening cry split the air, if Moonchild still had any hair, it would have stood on end. The door burst inward, the room reeking of ozone as Her Ladyship’s fearsome demonic might ionized the air. Her eyes were two baleful pits of hate, her aura a corona of rage.

She spoke, her voice underscored with the screams of the damned. “Where. Is. He.”

“In his office, My Lady,” said Moonchild, smiling pleasantly.

The towering owl demoness levitated towards the door, blasting it open with a gesture. Prince Stolas, no doubt having cleaned himself up by now, responded cheerily, his ubiquitous staff already having replaced the destroyed door and closed it. The ensuing spat, something about seducing a friend’s son with a bottle of rosé she had been saving, was a much more reserved affair. It still sounded like a nest of nephilim screeching for blood, though.

Preferable to the alternative.

While his boss argued with his lady, Moonchild set about sorting the mail. A gentle touch of his fingers yielded a brief snippet of its history, a rush of sights, sounds, and impressions that, if observed in the traditional sense, would have amounted to a 100 second recording. This particular ability had always confounded him. In life he’d been permitted to access to an ability that allowed 10 seconds of prescience, with no capacity to change events. Upon arriving in Hell, he’d gained the ability to change the outcomes somewhat, eventually expanding his window of sight slowly but surely to 100 seconds, in addition to gaining a similar window of sight into the past. But this new ability, which Prince Stolas dubbed ‘psychometry’, was a mystery; he couldn’t really control what section of history he observed, but every time he used it, the observed snippet was in some way relevant to his interests at that moment.

By way of ‘for instance’ the small box in his hands had, at some time in the past, been loaded with a small explosive device attached to a case of steel ball bearings, no doubt cast from angelic metal. Moonchild casually tossed the box down a chute labeled ‘Bombs’ and picked up a paper envelope. An overweight imp mailman was driving his van, hand down the front of his pants as he scratched himself vigorously.

“Fuck this itches! Fuckin’ hooer looked a little crusty, I shouldn’t ‘a–”

He stopped the van, moist hand withdrawing from his pants as he grabbed the letter.

Moonchild filed the letter into the ‘received’ pile, hurriedly applying hand sanitizer.

The argument ceased, Her Ladyship stepped out through the door, her appearance impeccable, a far cry from the nightmare that had come screaming in. She glanced at Moonchild and smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile, it was the sort of smile a fox might reserve for a cornered field mouse. She ran the back of her hand down his smooth, blemish-less cheek, hooking a long talon under his fine, pointed chin, raising his gaze to meet hers.

“I love your sweater,” she said, her voice now a smooth, syrupy mezzo.

“Thank you, My Lady.”

“I should like to see it on the floor of my boudoir once your shift is done, understood?”

Moonchild blushed and nodded. “Yes, My Lady.”

With that she left, hips swaying seductively as she left.

“Ladysmith Black Mombazo!” A voice shouted from overhead.

A ceiling tile plummeted through the air and Moonchild, not the least bit surprised, adroitly moved his desk out of the way of the debris. The tile was followed shortly by a tallish Imp with huge, crescent-shaped horns landing face-first on the floor. Without so much as a missed beat, the imp rolled onto his side, head resting on his hand, a coquettish smile on his face.

“Boy, she is gonna ride your dick ‘till it snaps off!”

Moonchild frowned. “Hello, Blitzo.”

“Howdy Moonie!” Blitzo said, winking. “Thanks for the heads up! She was bitchier than usual this time!”

“She always gets this way when you come over.”

“So, once a month?” Blitzo chuckled, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “There’s a period joke in there, but that’s beneath me.”

Moonchild very much doubted _anything_ was beneath Blitzo. “Hm.”

“So, what, every time Hooty has a booty call, Marm grabs the Blowfish for a nice sweaty revenge-fuck? Sounds like a sweet deal to me! Hey! For a nominal fee I could drop by here and show the bird the word more often, get you some extra quality time with your boss’ missus.”

Moonchild said nothing, resuming his work with the mail.

“Aww cheer up, Moonie!” Blitzo crooned, sitting on the desk, draping an arm over his shoulders. “You get to smash the choicest cloaca this side of the pentagram on the reg! Most down here would blow an exorcist for that!”

Moonchild removed the hand from his shoulder, his lip curling. “I don’t even know her name.”

Blitzo fiddled with an envelope, opening it. “…And? All she wants to hear you scream is ‘mommy’!”

“She makes me wear a ballgag…” Moonchild mumbled.

“Y’know, I almost feel bad for you,” said Blitzo, hopping off the desk. “Not really. Whatever. See ya ‘round, Moonie!”

Moonchild scowled as the imp sauntered out, he hated the smarmy little imp. He ran his business at the behest of his lord, whose grimoire allowed him to conduct hits in the living realm, and yet, whenever it was necessary for Stolas to conduct his own business in the mortal realm, the ungrateful creature dared act put-upon. Ungrateful, disrespectful imp.

The door opened and out stepped Prince Stolas, immaculately dressed and pristine, were he not present for it, Moonchild would not have guessed he’d just been in the throes of carnal passion and then a heated exchange with his furious, demonic wife. On his face was his ever-unaffected smile, his upper eyes squinting in self-satisfaction. He turned to his diminutive secretary, his ten-foot height positively towering over the fish demon.

“Moonie~” he crooned, bending over and patting him on the head, talon curling around his bangs. “Splendid work, as always! You are a God-send! I bless the day silly old St. Peter had a stoke and sent you here by mistake!”

The comment stung at him a bit, for his damnation was a matter of ongoing confusion, but he enjoyed the praise. It reminded him of long ago, when his former boss would entrust to him matters of great importance. If there was anything Moonchild valued in himself, it was his dedication to fulfilling his obligations to the best of his ability.

“It’s my job, My Lord. I’m honored to work for you, you’ve been very good to me.”

It was the truth, a tender soul like him was ripe for every imaginable form of abuse in Hell. It was only his status as the Prince’s secretary that kept him from being devoured or pressed into prostitution. Daily mugging attempts notwithstanding, he was as safe as a meek soul like him could be.

“Ach! Nonsense!” Stolas pinched his cheek. “I reward good work, and no one could do your job better! I–” He sniffed the air, his brow furrowing. “What’s that smell?”

Moonchild started, sniffing his collar; he was certain he’d covered the stench suitably with the Prince’s favorite cologne. “Oh, uh s-smell, My Lord?”

Stolas bent over, a concerned frown on his face. “Did you have to hide in the garbage again?”

“Oh, you needn’t worry yourself, My Lord,” Moonchild began to say. “I was just–”

“You really must learn to stand up for yourself, Moonie.” Stolas said, running the back of his fingers down his cheek.

“Yes, My Lord.”

Stolas smirked and cocked his head. “A gentle soul. Never did I ever think I’d find such a rarity down here. Like finding a diamond in the trash. That, and your other talents, makes you very precious to me. Do take care of yourself, my little fishy.”

“I will, My Lord.”

“While on the subject, did that harpy preposition you yet?”

“She did, My Lord.”

Stolas chuckled and shook his head. “I suppose I deserve that. Though I will advise her to be gentle.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

* * *

She was not gentle.

The ride on the train was uncomfortable, her claws had torn bloody tracks down his back and chest, the deep ligature marks on his wrists and ankles throbbed abominably. He stared out into space, expression flat. His existence was comfortable enough, his employer valued him, and he got benefits, there were others who were worse off, to be sure. But… he didn’t belong here. He was a damned soul, yes, but damned for what? He’d never killed anyone, never stolen anything, he’d even taken care to rescue insects from the sidewalk! Was he damned by association?

Prince Stolas treasured his ‘gentle soul’ for its rarity, its novelty, but Moonchild never mistook this for kindness or actual regard; to the Prince, he was at best a useful bauble, almost a pet of some kind. The fact remained that he was condemned to an eternity in this pit, to forever be at the beck and call of cruel, aloof aristocrats, ever fearful of his more ruthless fellow denizens. What had he ever done to deserve this fate?

He flinched away from the window as someone tossed a ragged-looking hellhound from the terminal as the train streaked by, the mangy mutt bounced off the side of the train and screamed as he disappeared beneath the grinding steel wheels.

“Others definitely have it worse…” He muttered to himself. “So why can’t I just be happy?”

He got off the train, lost in thought, carried along the tide of demons filing out onto the terminal. This part of the city, Pentagram City, was nicer than the imp ghettos, but was still an abject slum by any other metric. Moonchild walked down the street, gazing off into the middle distance. His apartment building loomed at the end of the block like a titanic tombstone. He sighed to himself, lost in his thoughts as shapes skulked in the shadows of the alley. He barely had time to blink in surprise as a hand shot out of the shadows and hauled him bodily into the alley and thrown to the filthy, trash-strewn ground.

“Well, well!” The voice was familiar. “Wouldja look at that! The one that got away!”

Moonchild rolled onto his back and stared up at a trio of burly demons. A leering caprine stepped out of the shadows, rolling his shoulders out, next to him was some manner of reptilian, and behind them was towering, indeterminable wall of muscle and leathery skin.

“Looks like fish’s back on the menu, boys!”

“Thank goodness,” said the Big One. “It’s Lent and I’m craving protein!”

The Reptilian blinked and looked up at him. “It’s Lent?”

“Yeah. What, just because I’m in Hell I can’t practice my faith?”

“Uh, yeah! Kinda!”

“Says who?”

“Says, like, the fact you’re in Hell, dipshit! Why bother with all that papist fuckery if you’re already damned?”

The Big One bristled, jabbing a finger at the Reptilian. “Okay, first of all: I’m Lutheran. Second of all–”

“Will you two shaddup?!” The Caprine growled, gesturing at the supine fish-demon. “We gots us a pretty fishie to rob, kill, and eat and you chuds are discussin’ the finer points ‘a religiosity!”

“I just don’t see the point of having faith while damned! What’s the point if you’s already in the bad end?!”

“Maybe I find the literature compelling and the parables actually help me maintain my spiritual health! Ever thought of that? Just because the Bible says I shouldn’t kill and eat people, doesn’t mean that it can’t make a compelling point regarding the virtues of restraint and self-control! Maybe having a spiritual center helps to hold onto my core virtues.”

“You kill and eat people all the time!”

“So?”

“So have shit for dick for core virtues, asshole!”

The Big One wagged his finger at his companion. “Now, now! I don’t do drugs, I don’t rape, and I’m never late for work! Besides killing and cannibalism, I observe my faith very closely.”

The Reptillian threw his hands up in frustration. “Oh, yeah! You may kill a guy for sandwich meat, but at least you don’t puff the jazz cabbage!”

“SHADDUP, WILL YA?!” The Caprine turned back to their quarry. “Now, where were we?”

The ground was bare, up the alleyway a figure bumped into a garbage can, stumbling as they turned the corner on the adjoining street.

“Sunnuva Protestant whore!”

Moonchild panted as he sprinted down the street, suitcase clutched in his arms. It was empty, of course, meant to hold tomorrows replacement ensemble, but it was still his and they wouldn’t have it. He glanced over his shoulder, the three were in hot pursuit, knocking pedestrians out of their way as they charged after him. Moonchild squeaked and put on a little extra speed. Panic filled his veins as he recalled back to his life, back when he would find himself in these kinds of horrible situations. He’d never been scared then, even though death would have seemed a far more permanent, uncertain affair than down here. He’d never been scared because, somehow, he knew he’d be able to get out of any situation. Something deep inside him would rise to the surface and fill him with power, with will, with… 

But it was gone now.

Ever since he’d come here, that slumbering well of strength had run dry, its absence in his soul a chasm, a groundless void that offered no support when panic and fear took hold.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

There was… something there. Something low, feral, and desperate. The echo of that strength was distant and hollow most of the time, but it would become frighteningly fierce when sought. Every time he tried, there would be this feeling, this inexorable, unshakable conviction that should whatever was inside him rise up, it would pull him down to do so, and he would never resurface. Death in Hell, by and large, was an unpleasant but ultimately temporary affair; whatever awaited him in the hole at the bottom of his soul was something a thousand times more terrifying and savage.

So he ran.

He looked back over his shoulder again, they were barely four paces away, the Big One had a huge hand extended on a long, simian arm, fingers grasping.

Moonchild reached out and grabbed a parking meter, swinging himself off his feet and scrabbling out onto the road, into traffic. Cars beeped and screeched as he cut across the street, stopping not out of concern for him, but a reluctance to damage their bumpers. Moonchild was nearly across when the roar of an engine and a bright set of headlights bore down on him like a freight train. He turned to see the fanged grill of a huge limo streaking towards him. Lights exploded behind his eyes as the world went dark, the jolts and impacts of his body tumbling across asphalt dim memories of sensation as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Figures towered over him, sounds like voices sang in the encroaching darkness.

“…y God, are you o…”

“…Arlie! Look ou…”

Blackness.


	2. Persona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, SPOILER ALERT  
> There are spoilers for A Peaceful Afterlife in this chapter. If you haven't read that fic, you may want to stop here and do that. Also give Helluva Job a read, if only to understand some of the stuff that comes later!
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Persona

Vaggie smiled as she watched the Princess of Hell, her nose in a book, her big bright eyes darting back and forth, glinting with characteristically irrepressible energy. The book was some dry tome regarding psychological archetypes and something-something. Vaggie honestly just sort of tuned it out, but Charlie was voraciously consuming any and all literature she could find on the subject.   


Charlie had tasted success, tasted victory, and was ravenous for more. Vaggie admitted it was impressive that she’d managed to crack that stoney-faced feline nut and drag something almost human out of him, and had his stay at their establishment not been cut so tragically short, not even Vaggie doubted Charlie inevitably would have had him on his back for belly-rubs. Charlie was eager to try again, to improve her method, to help more people. It was one of the things Vaggie positively adored about her.

“Ooh! Vaggie! Get this,” said Charlie, snapping her fingers. “Right so, there’s this thing called ‘the shadow’, right?”

Vaggie had been the ever-patient recipient of Charlie’s increasingly frequent hypotheticals. “That’s the Jungian one, right?”

“Yeah, but less specifically. I’m talking about the general idea that repressed thoughts and unacknowledged aspects of a person’s inner self influence their behavior.”

“A world-breaking theory,” said Vaggie, her voice playfully flat.

“Hush,” said Charlie, smiling. “Now, it seems to me that a lot of people down here have trouble with their shadow.”

“Slow down with the revelations, there, Doc!”

“Sassy bitch.” Charlie’s face scrunched into a moue. “In life, they repressed the parts of themselves they couldn’t identify with, either positive things about themselves due to low self esteem…”

Vaggie nodded. “Or they’re suppressing some evil shit and it starts leaking out.”

“Kind of…” Charlie shrugged. “Point is, they’re not only carrying on with these behaviors imprinted onto their soul, they’re encouraged to express their negative aspects as well. If they’re going to redeem themselves, they have to embrace their shadow.”

Vaggie snorted as a demon ran by on the sidewalk, consumed in flame. “I think they’re embracing their shadow plenty.”

“That’s not what embracing it means,” Charlie said, rolling her eyes. “For example, Kira could come to terms with himself because he knew himself. He had nothing hidden, no internal conflicts, he had accepted his darkness. He was remarkably self-aware for someone so… uh…”

“Psychotic?”

“I never said he was a good person in life, just that he was very self-aware.” Charlie cleared her throat, desperate to move on from her praise of the ex-serial killer. “But that self-awareness led him to embrace the program more fully, to identify in himself what needed work and how to achieve his goals. That’s why he crossed over!”

“Charlie…” Vaggie broke in. “We don’t know for sure that’s what happened.”

Charlie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Right, he just exuded beautiful golden smoke for no reason.”

Vaggie tried to articulate a response but gave up. “So, going forward we just have to get people into that ‘know thyself’ stage first?”

“Theoretically?” Charlie shrugged and smiled. “Honestly, I’m grasping at straws, here.”

Vaggie smiled, it was a sharp and decidedly malicious smile. “Angel?”

“Angel.” Charlie nodded, sadly. “We’ve gotten him off drugs, he’s… less lustful. He was right there with Kira in therapy, I don’t know why he hasn’t gone over yet!”

“Maybe we should stab him,” Vaggie said, chuckling.

Charlie gasped, mildly offended. “Vaggie!”

“Well, if anyone has a shadow, it’s Angel Dust,” Vaggie said, crossing her arms. “If you’re right, and souls need to reconcile with themselves before they can honestly be redeemed, then we have to assume that there’s a sincerity filter at work here.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” Charlie brandished the book. “So, all we have to do is… get billions of demons to self-actualize, identify their shortcomings, and redeem themselves… oh boy…”

“Hey…” Vaggie reached over and set her hand on Charlie’s, giving in a loving squeeze. “You’ve already done more than anyone thought possible. If anyone’s going to save this shithole, it’s you.”

“Thanks, Vaggie,” Charlie said, laughing. “Now, all we need is another client!”

“…Why?”

“As a control group, silly!”

“Charlie, I think you need some time away from those clinical psychology books.”

“But there’s so many fun experiments in them!”

The squeal of breaks sounded and the occupants lurched forward, tumbling up the long interior of the limo. A hard thud was heard as Vaggie and Charlie collected themselves. 

The Princess of Hell loomed over the supine moth-demon, a wry, less-than-innocent smile spreading across her face. “Hey~”

Vaggie blushed, her eye darting around. “Uhh, did we hit something?”

“Oh!” Charlie kicked open the door and darted out. “Oh no!”

Vaggie sighed and shook her head, smiling.

Horns bleated and demons roared from behind the wheels of their vehicles, the limo having stopped dead in traffic. Common practice was, in the event of a bumper-damaging impact, the aggrieved party (the driver and those behind him) would be fully justified in rolling over the jay-walker. Delays in traffic outside the regularly scheduled ones were vehemently frowned upon in Hell. 

Charlie, heedless of the increasingly acrimonious demons stalled behind her, ran out of the limo and over to the dazed, supine figure on the ground. He was a smallish, slender demon, his noseless, fishlike face alabaster white save for a dusting of shining golden freckles on his cheeks, greenish blood dripped down his forehead from under the pink hair-like tentacle sprawled limply across his flawless face. He was dressed in a purple sweater that left much of his toned chest exposed, together with his tight-fitting pants his outfit left very little to the imagination.

“Oh, my God!” Charlie exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

Vaggie was at her side in an instant. “Charlie, look out!”

A trio of scuzzy, vicious-looking demons approached her, grinning ear to ear. “Hey thanks, lady! He almost got away!”

“And thanks for not just driving over him,” said the Big One. “I don’t eat roadkill.”

“Why?” The Reptilian asked, sourly. “It ain’t kosher? You a jew now, too?”

“No, the meat gets all gritty and tastes like tarmac.”

“Yeah, so, if you would kindly hand him over, we can get outta traffic, here.”

Charlie stepped between them and the stricken fish-demon, her face set and hard. “You’re not taking anybody.”

The Caprine grinned and snapped his fingers, the Big One stepped forward with a big book in his paws, the _Legibus Ab Inferno_ . “Page 2331, paragraph six, subsection 8: in the event of a pursuit, the pursuant, or pursuants, be they of higher standing or in an otherwise advantageous position over the pursued, shall have dominion over the aforementioned party from point of capture to the dissolution of the contract, either by the will of the dominant party or subsequent expiration of the captured.”

The Caprine smiled. “See? Legal. Now, hand ‘im over.”

“No!” Charlie’s hands balled into fists. “I caught him, he’s mine!”

“Ah-ah,” the Big One said, turning the page. “Paragraph 3, subsection 12: in the event of a third party dispute of ownership, the pursued is automatically remanded to the custody of the party in pursuit for longest distance and/or time.”

“We chased him for, what, a block?” The Caprine turned to the Reptilian. “Two?”

“Two and a half.”

“Two and a half,” the Caprine turned back to Charlie grinning, gesturing at the Big One. “Let ‘er have it.”

“That’s a sunk cost to be determined by the aggrieved party.” The Big One pointed at the book. “You are permitted to purchase him from us, if you wish.”

“God damnit, fucking _abogado callejeros_ –” Vaggie stepped between Charlie and the trio. “Alright, the three of you. Give us the fish or fuck off, ideally both, in either order.”

“Oh ho?” The Caprine chuckled, glancing at his friends as he jabbed a thumb at her. “Oh yeah, Chica? What’s in it for me?”

Vaggie sneered and summoned her weapon, an enormous seraphic steel harpoon, the holy metal sparking and shining like a beacon of divine light. “The fewer things in you the better.”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” The Caprine flinched back, sweat forming on his brow. “No need for that!”

“Page 927, paragraph 3, subsection 7: should the disputing party be better armed and/or more stylish, the object of dispute is legally remanded to their custody.” The Big One leaned over his shoulder, book in hand. “Angelic weapon and slick one-liner. We’ve got no case, here.”

“Let’s bounce!” The Reptilian whimpered.

The trio of cannibals skulked away, Vaggie smirked and set the pommel of her harpoon on the asphalt, the weapon towering over her petite frame. “Dipshits.”

She turned around to see Charlie collect the unconscious demon off the street. “Charlie, what–?!”

“~New client~” Charlie said, her voice melodic. “Get the door for me, will you?”

Vaggie opened her mouth to deliver some manner of dissuading argument, but having spent the past several years with the Princess, she was starting to realize how pointless such an endeavor was. Instead she opened the door to the limo and helped her in with the limp body. Her head rising as the honking directly behind them intensified.

“Move, you dumb bitches!” The driver behind them bellowed out his window. “Stupid fucking blonde cunt! Get… the fuck… uh…”

Vaggie stood in front of his car, a junky shit-brown Sedan, her eye blazing with cold fury. She raised her harpoon over her head and brought it down in a glittering arc, a shrill screaming sounded as the divine edge split the very atoms of the air. The edge sliced through the hood and cleaved the engine block in half before punching through to the asphalt below. Vaggie smiled and yanked the harpoon back out with a spurt of oil and a great pillar of steam. The engine sputtered and died, the shit-colored Sedan now an unsalvageable wreck.

“Language,” said Vaggie, smiling sweetly as she hopped back into her vehicle.

The driver, sweat pouring down is pale, clammy face, looked around as the other, less patient drivers exited their cars and crowded around him, the new obstacle.  
“…Sorry…” 

* * *

Moonchild slowly seeped back into the world of the conscious.

Shapes moved about in darkness beyond his eyelids. 

There was pain, but less than expected. Their knives and teeth and claws must have done their work while he was unconscious. Part of him didn’t want to open his eyes, to see what they had done to him, how they had harvested him. Though, he supposed, that there was anything left at all was a godsend. He’d heard tell of demons eaten whole reconstituting their bodies from raw sewage. The technicalities of such an experience were thankfully beyond his imagination.

“Vaggie!” Someone said, someone with a sweet, chirrupy voice. “Vaggie, Niffty! He’s awake!”

He couldn’t fathom anyone who owned such a voice would associate with his hunters; slow but surely he opened his eyes.

He was in a room, old-fashioned but tastefully appointed and decorated. The ceiling lamps gave off soft, gentle 40-watt light, which was merciful on his sensitive eyes and splitting headache.

Standing around him was a tall, blonde, doll-like demoness with bright red spots on her cheeks; a shorter, gray demoness with one eye and a head framed by a large red bow; next to them was a minuscule, manic-looking cyclops, the grin on her face broad and toothy and all-too-familiar.

“Where am I?” He mumbled, his head felt like a cracked egg. “What happened?”

“You’re safe,” said the blonde, her tone gentle as she ran a dainty, pedicured hand down his cheek. “You took a pretty bad bop to the noggin.”

“And you were pretty torn up!” The energetic cyclops chirped, leaning in perhaps a little too close. “Claw marks everywhere! I sewed you up though! You’re welcome!”

Moonchild craned his head down to look at his body, only just noticing he was naked, only a towel protecting his modesty. The claw-marks Her Ladyship’s left crisscrossing his hide were now neatly sewn up. “Oh! Uh… thank you.”

“ _I already said_ ‘you’re welcome’!” The little demoness hissed, her smile now much less friendly.

“Uh…”

“You got a name?” The grey demoness said, pulling the intimidating little one away.

“Moonchild,” he said, his own voice unbearably loud inside his throbbing head. “My name is Moonchild.”

“That’s such a pretty name!” The blonde exclaimed, extending her hand in a flash. “My name’s Charlie!”

He flinched away from the sudden intrusion of his space, before smiling and taking her hand. “Pleased to meet you.” 

She shook his hand vigorously, gesturing to the other demoness. “This here is my best friend and hotel administrator, Vaggie.”

“Hey.”

And then to the scary little cyclops. “And this is Niffty.”

“Howdy!”

Moonchild opened his mouth to greet her when a large, white face filled his view, its smile broad and sharp, a single gold fang glinting in the yellow light as a pair of mismatched red eyes leered at him like was meat. “Hey, Chuck! Who’s the twink?”

Moonchild squeaked and scurried away, tumbling off the table, the towel covering him fluttering away.

“Ooh~” The towering spider-demon crooned. “Forget fish-sticks, that’s a fish-branch!”

“Angel!” Charlie scolded, casting a larger towel over the hyperventilating Moonchild. “Stop it, you’re scaring him!”

“Hey, don’t be scared, pretty-boy!” Angel said, winking at him. “I don’t bite… hard.”

“This is Angel Dust,” Charlie said, smiling apologetically as she helped him to his feet. “He’s… well, anyway! Let’s get you dressed!”

“Aw shit! He’s a client, ain’t he?” Angel Dust groaned, throwing up his hands. “An’ here I thought ya dames went and unwound an’ grabbed ya-selves a hooer!”

“Ignore him as often as possible,” Vaggie grumbled as she helped Charlie lead him out of the first aide station. “It’s all you can do.”

Angel blew a kiss at him and winked. “See ya around, Sea-Snack!”

  
Moonchild gawped as he walked through the halls. Though not as opulent as the Prince’s mansion, it clearly was in the same bracket. Key term being ‘was’. Some time long ago it might have been the home of an aristocrat or overlord, but had long since slid into dilapidation, from which it had only recently been saved. No, not a royal’s house, but a cut above most high-rate establishments.

“Where am I?”

“Oh!” Charlie exclaimed, grabbing his arm as they walked into the lobby. “Hold on!”

She jumped out in front of him with a dancer’s grace and, with a wide, sweeping flourish said: “Welcome to the Happy Hotel! Where sinners check in and the redeemed check out!”

“More like ‘Hazbin Hotel’,” a low, gravelly voice from behind the desk grumbled.

Her smile dropped, waving off the snarky comment like it was a bad smell. “Oh, hush.”

A winged cat-demon reared up from behind the desk, sneering as he set a large book on the desk with a painfully loud thump. “What’s yer name, roadkill?”

“M-Moonchild.”

“Moonshine?” The cat-demon said, smirking sourly. “You're lucky that name ain't taken no more.”

Moonchild shook his head. “It’s Moonchild, actually.”

The cat-demon didn’t seem to notice, or was simply extremely adept at not giving a shit. “Moon… shine… there! Yer in.”

“In? In what?” He turned to Charlie. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind Husk, he’s just getting ahead of himself. Anyway, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this place, but it’s a facility that redeems sinners and–”

“Oh! Yes! I’ve heard!” Moonchild’s face lit up, his pointed at the hotel and then to Charlie. “I saw it on TV, with Mr. Clean and the gang war… and…” His eyes went wide. “Oh, dear God. You’re…”

“Oh, here we go.” Vaggie rolled her eye. “We got a royalist on our hands.”

“Your Highness!” Moonchild dropped to his knees, head bowed.

Charlie shook her head, reaching out to him “Oh no, no, no! Please don’t kneel!”

“My gravest apologies, Your Highness!” Moonchild proceeded to lower his head to the floor in a groveling kowtow.

“Ha!” Husk barked, capping a bottle of bourbon. “She has a spot on her spats, kid. Get that for her, will ya?”

Moonchild’s eyes darted back and forth uncertainly.

Husk tapped his wrist. “Tick-tock.”

The groveling fish-demon moved to lick her shoes when Charlie reached down and effortlessly plucked him off the ground, setting him down standing up. “No. No kowtowing, no kneeling, no bowing! I’m not the princess in here, I’m not ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Your Excellency’! I’m not even ‘Charlotte’! My name… is Charlie. Okay?”

Moonchild nodded and blushed. “Yes, Yo– yes, Charlie.”

“Anyway…” Charlie nudged him with her elbow. “What do you think? Wanna sign up?”

Moonchild blinked in surprise. “…I’m sorry?”

She gestured at the hotel around them, grinning. “Would you like to sign up and get redeemed? It’s free room and board… and you’ll go to Heaven! Now, that’s a deal!”  
Moonchild’s eyes bugged out of his head. Was this really happening? He started this day on the subway, going to what he assumed was the rest of his miserable existence, and now, mere hours later, he was staring redemption right in the face, the face of a pretty, smiling princess. Provided it was possible, of course. Even if it wasn’t, his Princess wanted him here, clearly, and he couldn’t turn her down! But, then again…

“I would like to, but…” Moonchild wrung his hands, averting gaze. “But, I can’t.”

Charlie cocked her head, her expression crestfallen. “How come?”

“It’s my boss.” Moonchild cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “I work for Prince Stolas, as his secretary. I fear he might, er, _object_ to me staying here.”

“Phhhht!” Husk spat. “That fuckin’ fruit wouldn’t care if secretary fucked off! He’d just get a new one!”

“I think I’m the exception,” said Moonchild, pointing at the stitches on his body. “These aren’t from the accident, they’re from his wife.”

Husk tilted his head, expression confused, before his ears shot up as the revelation struck. “No fuckin’ way! Yer plowin’ Prince Stolas’ lady?!”

“It’s a very one-sided affair…” Moonchild cleared this throat, nodding. “He knows, too.”

“And you’re still alive?!” Husk shot to his feet, grinning maliciously. “Last person she slept around with is _still_ gettin’ tortured!”

“He values me, for some reason.” Moonchild said, bowing his head to Charlie. “Moreover, he’s none too fond of your father. If he found out I was here, he might get… upset.”

“I’ll say,” said Vaggie, impressed. “If he’s willing to keep you around after that.”

Charlie tapped her chin, contemplating. “Hmmm…”

“Charlie,” Vaggie said, forebodingly. “ ** _No._** There’s a million-billion demons out there who aren’t associated with a cruel Goetian Prince! Stolas is incredibly–”

“How about you stay here?” Charlie said, suddenly.

Moonchild blinked in surprise as Vaggie buried her face in her hands. “Excuse me?”

“Stay here!” Charlie chirped. “Live here and redeem yourself, but also go to work! That way, you can redeem yourself without Big Hoot knowing any better!”

“Yeah, this is gonna end well…” Husk grumbled, taking a slug of bourbon.

“Charlie…” Vaggie moaned, fingers digging into her cheeks in dismay. “ _Whhhyyy_ …?”

“I’ll explain later,” Charlie whispered, turning to Moonchild, beaming, her hand extended. “What do you say?”

Moonchild eyed her hand dubiously, fingers fidgeting. “… _Free_ room and board?”

“Free as air!”

He smiled furtively and took her hand, just because Stolas valued him didn’t mean he paid well (and he was too scared to ask for a raise). “Deal!”

* * *

“Just a few more questions and we’ll have you in your room before you know it!”

“Alright,” Moonchild said, some of these questions were… odd.

“Favorite color?” Vaggie said, sounding impossibly bored.

“I like green, but reds, purples, and pinks work best with my natural colors.”

“Favorite musical?” Charlie asked, hopefully. “Theater and film.”

“ _Easter Parade_ , followed by _Jekyll and Hyde_.” Moonchild thought for a moment, smiling wryly. “ _South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut_.”

Charlie giggled and nudged him. “I never would have guessed! Good taste, though!”

“I’ve memorized all the songs!”

“Me too.”Charlie took note and tapped her pen on the questionnaire. “Alright moving on. Are you or have you ever been a Stand-user?”

“Oh, uh, yes, I suppose.”

Vaggie’s eye snapped up to him and narrowed. “What do you mean ‘you suppose’? As I understand it, you either are or you aren’t.”

He scratched his cheek and shrugged. “I… don’t know. On earth, my old boss would, I guess, ‘loan’ me his Stand. I suppose I still had it when I died because I have similar powers down here.”

Vaggie leaned back, eyeing him up. “What could you do, exactly?”

“I could see 10 seconds into the future, but I couldn’t change anything.”

“I see, and now?”

“I can see 100 seconds into the future and can change events.” He drummed his fingers on his legs. “And I can see 100 seconds into the past and, uh, I have something Prince Stolas calls psychometry. That’s–”

“You can see something’s past by touching it?” Charlie said, interested. “That’s pretty cool!”

“Yes, but I can’t fully control it,” he reached out to touch the desk. “It’s only a 100 second clip and unless I’m looking for something it’s usually random.” He touched the desk and his eyes snapped open wide, a furious red blush consuming his pale cream-colored face. “Oh! Oh my!”

Vaggie arched an eyebrow, somewhat amused at his reaction. “What? What is it? What did you see?”

Moonchild cleared this throat, fingers drumming much more rapidly on his thighs as his face turned pink. “N-nothing. Just, uh, just something unrelated! Remembered something embarrassing I did, you know? You ever get that? Where you–?”

Charlie grinned and leaned in, her tone mischievous. “No, no, no! C’mon! You did the thing just now, didn’t you? What did you see?”

“Very well,” he sighed, shaking his head. “A few weeks ago, er, on this desk, y-you and Miss Vaggie, uh, well, there’s probably still an ink-mark from the rubber stamp in small of her back. That ink is, uh, hard to remove from, um… skin.”

Charlie hid her mortified expression behind the questionnaire as Vaggie blushed furiously and looked away, farms folded tightly across her chest.

“I’m sorry, I did try to warn you,” Moonchild said, smiling apologetically.

“No, no, I fully deserved that one.” Charlie set the papers back down on the desk, blushing red. “Final question! Are you, in any way, associated with any gangs, factions, or sects presently or formerly involved in plots to assassinate me, my father, or otherwise usurp control over Hell?”

“Has this sort of thing happened before?”

“Answer the question!” Vaggie barked, more than a little flustered.

“No! No, I work for Prince Stolas,” he said, recoiling. “He may not like your father, but he’s a firm supporter of the Inner Circle.”

“He knows who butters his bread,” Vaggie grumbled, turning to Charlie. “We done here?”

“Yes, you can go enter him into the system, now,” Charlie said, gently patting her on the hand. “Thanks, Vaggie.”

Vaggie left, stopping and turning to face Moonchild in the doorway to the office, pointing at her eye and then at him. Moonchild frowned but responded by pointing at the small of his back and then at her, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge. A fresh blush burned in Vaggie’s cheeks and she made a hasty exit. He sat back into the chair and watched as Charlie filled out the paper work. She set the pen down and got to her feet, gesturing for him to follow.

“Follow me and I’ll get you all set up in your room,” Charlie said as they made their way down the hall. “Once Vaggie has you in the system I’ll have the boys swing you by your old place to pick up your belongings. Sound good?”

“Yes, thank you. You’re very kind, Charlie,” he said. “You’ve already helped me so much.”

“Oh, it’s all part of the program!” She said, putting a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye. “The first step to redemption is realizing that you have a problem. Understanding why you’re here and, more importantly, how you can change. We’re here to help you help yourself, understand?”

Moonchild faltered for a moment before giving a forced, brittle smile. “Oh, y-yes! Of course. Just got to, uh, do that…”

Charlie watched as he walked alongside her, the ghost of a furrow in her brow; either this kid was very good at keeping a cap on his feelings, or he honestly didn’t know why he was down here. ‘ _Hmmm… this could be harder than I thought._ ’

Charlie knew how she must appear to others, how her demeanor and attitude must give the impression of someone lacking in guile, gullible, perhaps even naive. But centuries of living in her household, the endless, daily machinations of Lucifer and Lillith as they sparred with each other as well as their infernal court, had bred in her a sixth sense for disassembly, for intrigue. Achingly aware of the crass manipulations of others, her determined positivity was that much more affirmed. If schemes begat schemes, why not try the novel approach? Defusing plots and machinations with openness and honesty? Besides, it was easy to bait people who assumed you were an idiot or lying, the mere thought of genuine good intent more often than not never even crossed their curdled minds, making them all the more predictable.

Charlie eyed him up, tapping into her well-earned insight. She allowed him to take a slight lead as they walked. His body language, stride, expression, all indicated a mild-mannered, even timid personae. This was a demon who did his best to escape notice, to slide on by with the crowd and avoid conflict. 

Or was he? 

She remembered reading about cuttlefish, mostly because she thought they were cute; strong males would impress females and fight off lesser males, as was expected, but a small portion of the male population possessed nigh-feminine attributes and a carefully cultivated mannerisms as not to trigger the alpha-male’s territorial instincts. These duplicitous cephalopods were then free to run rampant among the alpha’s harem, propagating their genes and earning the humorous label of ‘sneaky fuckers’. 

While Charlie sincerely doubted that this unassuming demon was out hunting for tail, she couldn’t help but suspect that at least some of his innocence was an act. She truly, deeply believed that there was good in everyone, but she also knew for a fact that there was evil, too, and no-one wound up in her kingdom without due cause.

“…Is your private bathroom,” said Charlie, only now aware that she was giving the usual spiel on autopilot. “It has a large-sized walk-in shower with a rainfall showerhead and adjustable stream nozzles. Toiletries and all that… stuff are… under–Moonchild?”

Moonchild stood in the middle of the room, his back to her.

Charlie approached, her hand outstretched, cautiously. “Moonchild?

“This is…” He spun around, a huge joyous smile on his face, a slight flush shone in his pale cheeks, his golden freckles sparkling, it was almost as though some invisible force of pure innocent joy radiated off of the slender demon in waves. “…Wonderful! This one room is bigger than my whole apartment! And the decorating! I love it! I–Charlie?”

Charlie had her back to him, she was leaning on the doorframe to the bathroom, hand clutched over her heart as a furious blush burned in her cheeks. ‘ _Too… too cute! I can’t stand it!_ ’

“Charlie?” He said, his concern almost unbearably genuine. “Charlie, are you alright?”

Art by [TheLastUnicornInOz](https://www.deviantart.com/thelastunicorninoz)

“F-fine, I’m fine!” She said, turning back to him, smiling. “I, uh, I’m just glad you like it, is all.”

“Oh, yes!” He said, nodding, his large fuchsia eyes glimmering. “Let me just say, for all you’ve done for me, all you’re planning to do, thank you, Charlie. I’m… not used to people caring about me.”

Charlie torturously fought the urge to pull him into a bone-crushing hug, instead patting him on the shoulder and laughing. “Don’t mention it! I’m happy to help! Now, why don’t we go grab your things, okay? C’mon, I’ll help you pack.”

“Okay,” Moonchild said, laughing nervously. “I have to warn you, though. It’s no Ritz!”

* * *

Somewhere far away, a scrye-pool shimmered, the image of the Heiress flickered upon its quicksilver surface. A pair of red, glaring eyes watched as the Princess of Hell and her two caprine cohorts escorted the target out of the hotel. He was small, leanly built, his slick, rubbery skin deep pink, almost red, his face pale, cream-colored, complimenting the rose-colored tentacle atop his head, mimicking hair. That such a fundamentally nonthreatening creature could be intertwined with so great a calamity struck the proud observer as absurd. However, he had long since learned to trust in Prince Orobas’ visions, and this being, along with his master, were to be setpieces in the coming conflagration. There was nothing to be done save for his duty.

A tall, muscular demoness entered the room, the long, interlocking spines she had in place of hair laid flat as she bow deferentially. “Your Excellency Grand Duke Sallos.”

Sallos stood up and away from the scrye-pool, straightening out to his full twelve-foot height, his massive frame visibly thew and powerful even beneath his leisurely robes. He turned to face her, a beard of dimly glowing embers extruded from his lantern-jaw, his head bald save for the undulating thickets of orange flame that were his eyebrows.

“Captain Gallia,” he rumbled. “Report.”

“Our advanced reconnaissance teams have reported back. Nothing out of the ordinary, Trouble hasn’t so much as left his compound in a week.”

He had expected as much; the demon priest known as Trouble had not survived this long by being imprudent. He knew he was being watched, and would do all he could to direct attention elsewhere. But Orobas deemed him dangerous, and that was enough for Sallos. That Stolas of all demons would associate with a vulgarian such as Trouble was bad enough, but the vexing visions had forced the Inner Circle’s hand: a formal investigation was underway.

“Maintain observation, I will petition the Inner Circle for a subpoena against Stolas. Then we will make our move.”

“Understood, Your Excellency,” Gallia said, bowing. “What of the Heiress?”

“At present, do nothing. She will keep the informant safe for us for the time being. However, when the time comes, I expect you to be ready to extradite the informant, by any means necessary.”

“Understood, Your Excellency.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie's met her match in this little cinnamon roll. Can she ever reclaim her title?
> 
> Also, who's Sallos?


	3. Archetype

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey
> 
> An update
> 
> Edit: Trouble is Enrico Pucci

Chapter 3: Archetype

The estate was quiet. The servants silently set about their work, careful not to make too much noise lest they rouse the predatory instincts of their masters. Keeping silent was an impressive feat, considering their masters' strigiform heritage, as was the quality of their service. The staff worked to the clock, ensuring that their masters' needs were seen to before the need arose.

Octavia's eyes slowly opened, the light filtering through her window was golden and soft, unlike the harsh red glow outside. This was imported morning sunlight from over a scenic mountain range on earth, the Alps, to be precise, though she neither knew nor cared.

She smacked her lips and reached out, eyes still bleary and unseeing, grabbing a cup of clear, cool water that had been placed on her bed-stand some twenty minutes earlier. She shuffled out of bed, feet sliding into a pair of perfectly placed slippers as she sipped the water. She put on her robe and made her way to her beauty station, her make-up at the ready and her ensemble for that day already assembled. Her mother insisted that she have an aesthetician to coordinate their outfits. For a while, she'd rebelled, disregarding their choices and selecting the most incongruous get-ups to her parent's meticulous style.

After a while, though, her aesthetician surprised her with an ensemble that was tasteful and stylish but also clashed with her parent's fashion. Octavia suspected her parents had no idea this servant was helping her subvert their image, and so elected to adopt the style as her own. Besides, the punishment for such impudence was no doubt worse than death. She'd never met this person, but all the same didn't want anything to happen to them. Besides, she got to look good while sticking it to her mother, win-win.

She slipped on her clothes and went about doing her make-up, a simple base with dark eyeliner, and popped on her toque, the gilded tiara inlaid on it glowing with a royal seal. She got up and set out for her father's office, she had some time to kill and knew who she wanted to kill it with.

Staff scurried to and fro as she made her way down the hall, ensuring that everything was in its proper place while the Prince was indisposed with business. Her Highness did not like to see her servants, but enjoyed the fruits of their labor. Octavia held out her hand and a mug of hot black coffee was placed in it by a maid as she ran by with an armful of laundry.

"Thank you, Merriam," Octavia said, looking up from her Hellphone to smile.

Her mother _hated_ when she treated the staff like people.

She flicked through her instagram, watching with wry amusement at the absurdities her social circle got up to the past few hours. She was hesitant to call any of them 'friends', hangers-on, parasites maybe, sycophants definitely, and a whole host of other words her father would gleefully deem 'impish'. Still, she was forced to associate with them because, well, she was an aristocrat and so were they, no matter how vapid or cruel she found them. Because if she didn't, if she hung out with people she actually liked, her mother and father both would get on her case. She could count one hand the number of people she felt she could confide in without fear judgement. One such creature awaited on the other side of the door

"Hey, Moonie," she said, barging into the office. "How're you–"

Blitzo sat on the secretary's deck, the look on his face that of a cat in a goldfish bowl. Fittingly, under his arm, in a headlock with the imp's knuckles grinding into his scalp, was Moonchild, her father's secretary, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Oh! Li'l Owlet!" The gurning imp crooned. "Can I just say you're looking–"

"Let him go, Blitzo," she commanded, her voice flat but strong.

"Right, right…" Blitzo said, releasing Moonchild. "It's no fun, anyway. Like fucking a dead fish."

"Out."

Blitzo jabbed his thumb over his should, at her father's office. "Hey, c'mon, I'm here to–"

"I said, ' _out_ '!"

Blitzo grinned and hopped off the desk, dusting his claws on his lapel. "Look, tits, if your father wants me here, you're just gonna have to–"

"Either you leave now, or I remove why you're here! _Manually_." Octavia flexed her talons, eyes glowing. "It'd take, what, few weeks to grow back? Just in time for the next full moon!"

Blitzo flinched back before regaining his composure. "Well, shucks, kid. Ya done convinced me. Later!"

He strutted out, turning around to grin and wave goodbye to Moonchild, who was rubbing his neck, his expression annoyed. "'Till next time, Moonie!"

Moonchild muttered something under his breath as the door swung shut, looking up at her, a sad smile on his pretty face. "Thank you, Highness."

She smiled, just something about this dork could always make her smile. "Why do you let him pick on you like that?"

"Oh, he wasn't picking on me!" He waved her off, his furrowed brow betraying his true feelings. "I just made a passing comment about his business and he, uh, took exception. Really, I shouldn't have been so flippant!"

"What did you say?"

"I asked if I.M.P. stood for 'Idiots, Morons, and Pinheads'."

Octavia smirked and chuckled. "It may as well. I have no idea what dad sees in him."

Moonchild smiled back, waving his hand in front of his face. "It's not his hygiene, I can tell you that much!"

She rested her chin on her palm and looked at him: how did this poor little thing wind up down here? He'd been in her father's service coming up on 20 years now, forever his pretty, decorative secretary. Just as well, he wouldn't have lasted ten seconds out there before getting snapped up by some pimp or sadist.

She'd only taken interest in him recently, a few years ago, when she'd gotten into her thankfully brief 'boyband' phase, she took notice of the effete demon lad that handled her father's mail and schedule. Her infatuation evaporated when she learned what a helpless creature he was, but she still found him a pleasant, friendly, and genuine person to talk to. She'd even call him her 'friend', inasmuch that she trusted him not to talk behind her back or repeat what she told him to her friends and mother.

Is that what a friend was?

"What are you even doing here, Moonie?" She thought, aloud.

"Uh, my job?" He reached over and picked up a large box, something passed behind his eyes for an instant and he tossed the box over his shoulder, into the chute labeled 'feces'.

Oh, well. In for a penny.

"No, I mean, why are you here?"

He looked at her, his big fuchsia eyes uncomprehending. "Here? Did I never tell you? Oh! Well, it's a funny story. I was fresh in Hell and was, well, hiding most of the time. One day I found a wallet. It was bursting with cash but I used my ability to track down your father and return it to him."

Octavia blinked, baffled: her father would have skinned someone alive for such obvious toadying. "…And?"

"And he picked me up and took me home," Moonchild said, matter-of-factly. "I've been working for your father ever since."

Octavia pictured her father, a Prince of Hell itself, standing agog at this tiny newborn demon holding out his unmolested wallet, bursting with bills, an utterly stupefied look on his face. Then, when everyone around expected him to petrify the presumed asslicker on the spot, he plucks the offending critter up like a lost kitten and takes him home!

She couldn't help herself, she clapped her hand to her face and laughed. Moonchild cocked his head to the side as her laughter tapered off, was it something he said?

"Ahh… thanks, Moonie, I needed that," said Octavia, flicking away a tear as she hopped up onto his desk, fiddling with the pile of mail there. "So, what's on the schedule today?"

"After I sort through the mail, I'll be making calls and composing emails to schedule meetings and collaborations. Then I'll be revising the schedule and–Octavia, don't touch that!"

Octavia looked at the long, rectangular box in her hands, a wry smile on her face. "Why? Is it a _bomb_?"

She shook the box side to side, up and down, grinning. A low, steady buzz emanated from the box as it began to jitter and jump about in her hands. Octavia squawked in surprise and dropped it like it was red hot, leaving the box to vibrate across the desktop, buzzing like a hive of hornets.

"Holy shit!" She exclaimed, hiding behind Moonchild. "Is it actually a bomb?!"

"No…" Moonchild said, somewhat distressed. "That would be your father's new 'action figure'."

Octavia opened her mouth to inquire when the revelation his, her red eyes snapping open as a rictus of disgust spread across her face. " _Oh, my God._ "

"Sorry."

She shuddered and shook her head. "Well! I'm off to go drink away that mental image. See you around, Moonie."

"See you around, Octavia," Moonchild said, tossing the buzzing box down a chute labeled 'goodies'. "Have a good day."

* * *

Moonchild hummed to himself as he managed Stolas' schedule. He was presently taking a call from a corrupt holy man, an imam or a preacher or rabbi or something. Denomination honestly didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, the man was surely damned. It was to discuss the potential placement of a natural disaster later in the month, the shister wanted to drop a nice, relevant passage from his holy book just before the disaster, and to have some eloquent words at the ready to console the bereaved and impress his congregation. The exchange for this favor was the souls of a handful of his followers. Directly after was a conference call with a few overlords and Earl Raum to oversee the signing of peace treaties between the feuding demons. And after that–

"Good afternoon," said a deep, steady voice. "I'm here for an appointment."

Moonchild jumped and looked up to see a demon towering over him. When had he come in? Had Moonchild been so caught up in his work he hadn't heard him enter? He was tall, perhaps eight feet at the eyes, and nine at the many points of the black crown resting atop his head, his silver, triangular pupils locking with his. He was clad head to toe in a blasphemous mockery of a priest's robes, his white clerical collar studded with spikes and bearing dog tags reading 'Trouble'.

"Oh? I don't see you on the schedule, sir," said Moonchild, checking screen. "Maybe there's been a mix-up?"

"I should think this meeting will not appear on any paperwork, little one." He smiled, something in it made Moonchild's hackle rise. "I assure you, your lord is expecting me. You will ring me in?"

"Sir, I can't just–"

Art by <https://www.deviantart.com/demoxdaguy>

He reached out with a bare, pale hand, his striated flesh corpse-white and peppered with countless brands reading G∆CT. The tips of his fingers streaked by Moonchild's cheek, sending a jolt through his body. The fish-demon's eyes went wide and distant, his body fell back limply in his chair. Four lines formed on Moonchild's face with a low, hissing snap, forming narrow slots. A whirring sound announced the extrusion of four shiny, silver discs from the slots. Two of which slipped free between the demon's fingers

"Hm?" Trouble cocked his head to the side, running his fingers over the jammed discs. "Four? There's more to you than meets the eye, little secretary…"

He angled Moonchild's limp head up and examined the discs. "Jammed beyond even my ability to extract, but not gone. Fascinating. Not even I knew such a thing was possible. The strings of fate hold you together, and its gravity draws on you more strongly than others, just barely held at bay by tremendous power. Perhaps it is to everyone's benefit you never play the full album, little secretary."

Trouble slipped the extracted pair back into their slots and left the catatonic demon in his chair, discs glinting in the hard fluorescent light of the office. The hellish priest walked through the wall as though it weren't there, phasing through the carved wood and plaster, and stepped into the adjoining room.

Stolas sat behind his desk, his back to the room, in the air a small glowing portal, a human face peering out from the mortal world.

The bearded face paled, his mouth working before he said. "My Lord, w-who is this?"

Stolas' head swiveled about, a look of exasperation spreading across his white face, all four red eyes flashing and narrowing. "Oh, for… _knock_ , like a normal person!"

"We need to talk."

"Yes, yes, in a minute!" He turned back to the human, making a shooing gesture over his shoulder. "Never mind him, he's–"

Trouble grabbed one of the ball bearings from the Newton's Cradle on the Prince's desk. With a flick of the thumb, the half-inch steel ball shattered the sound barrier as it streaked over the Prince's shoulder. The projectile cratered the human's face and punched clean through, smashing a hole the size of a fist in the wall behind him. The shockwave tore through his frail body, his head exploding in a squall of pulverized gore, splattering the surroundings.

Stolas sighed and pinched between his eyes with one hand, closing the portal with another. He spun his chair around and knit his fingers together, scowling. "Was that necessary?"

"Yes."

Stolas leaned back and shook his head, offering a curt beckoning gesture. "Well? What is it? What could possibly be so important you'd risk being seen coming to my office, to my estate, and interrupt my business?"

"Duke Sallos is investigating me."

Stolas' eyes snapped open wide. "Ah."

"I presently have several duplicates conducting my business elsewhere at this very moment. If anyone did see me arrive here, they may well presume it's a red herring."

Stolas leaned forward, slowly getting to his feet. "Unless."

Trouble clasped his hands behind his back, walking over to the window, its blinds closed. "Unless he has reason to investigate you, too. Or, perhaps, he was already doing so when this happened."

"I see. Because I lent the book to the imp, you think Sallos would have me under investigation?" Stolas crept up behind the demon, talons flexing. "And now that you've pulled off your heist, that would implicate me, in his eyes, in your asinine little scheme."

"An unreasonable conjecture?"

"Not at all," sighed Stolas, relaxing his claws. "What do you need?"

"From you? Nothing. For now. They will suspect you, but you are one of them, and decorum will be observed." Trouble made his way to the exit. "I merely wanted to warn you, as a courtesy. All that transpires from here on out is only possible thanks to you. This will not be forgotten."

"Get out."

Trouble nodded and headed for the wall to make good his exit, arms crossed behind his back.

"Oh, and Trouble?" Stolas said, smiling.

He turned around to face the Prince. "Yes?"

" _ **Die.**_ "

The Prince's four eyes snapped open with a piercing wail, waves of medusa-energy surging out in a single blast. The priest didn't so much as flinch, petrified in an instant. Prince Stolas strolled over and casually snapped the head off the statue, crushing it to dust in his grasp. He opened his fist, among the pulverized stone was a pair of discs, the word 'COPY' embossed on their silvery surfaces.

"Filth."

With a gesture he summoned a portal underneath the headless statue, dropping it into the abyssal maw of a supermassive black hole. He disposed of the discs in a similar manner and closed the portal, dusting off his hands. Stolas exited the office and saw Moonchild slumped in his chair, eyes staring off into the distance as the discs in his face slowly retracted with a mechanical whir. Stolas cocked his head, a small smile on his face; he was familiar with Trouble's ludicrous powers, and one slot typically signified a soul while a second one would be that person's supernatural ability.

"Four? My dear Moonie, you continue to impress me."

Moonchild's eyes focused as the discs retracted and the slots closed up, he saw Stolas and nearly leapt out of his chair. "M-My Lord! I'm sorry, I must have dozed off! There is, er, was a demon here asking to see you. I suppose he left, but I–"

Stolas silenced him with a talon on his lips, smiling gently. "Very good, Moonie. Could you please go tell my chauffeur to prep the limo. Some pressing business just came up and I simply _must_ get underway as soon as possible."

"Yes, My Lord!" Moonchild said, shooting to his feet. "Right away!"

The eager little demon picked up the phone and began to get the ball rolling, Stolas made his way out the door, his leisurely pace betraying nothing of the building anxiety within him. Decorum would be observed, of course, but it's not every day the _Saint's Corpse_ falls into demon hands. Even Lucifer must have noticed that! There would be consequences, dire consequences, he would need to take measures and soon if his family was going to survive.

* * *

"This is bullshit!" Angel Dust exclaimed, arms flailing. "How come fuckin' Seafood gets ta work and I don't?"

"Because he works as a secretary," Vaggie said, her voice flat. "And you work as a prostitute. One is more conducive to rehab than the other."

"Oh, please! Like the Owl actually needs a secretary! Didja see those dick suckin' lips? I betcha Rainbow can slurp a horse through a sippy straw!" Angel turned to Charlie, his voice pleading. "Please, Chuck? I'm goin' stir-crazy in here!"

"Angel, we've discussed this, you can't go out without a sponsor," said Charlie, hoisting a quartet of boxes onto the table. "Here, if you're bored, I got some new Legos to play with."

Angel picked up one of the boxes, his lips fleering from his fangs in disgust. "Chuck, these are Mega Bloks."

"What's the difference?"

"I-I'm just gonna…" Angel, said, his voice brittle as he massaged his temples, his eye twitching. "I'm just gonna go."

Angel Dust stormed out of the room. Charlie chuckled and shook her head heads turned as the door opened, in walked Moonchild, a tired look on his face and a banana peel on his shoulder. He looked up and saw them, forcing a smile and waving.

"Oh, hello!" He said, making his way into the lobby. "Boy, long day at work today."

"Key-ripes! That smell!" Husk growled, flapping his wing to ward away the offending odor. "You jump in a dumpster or something, kid?"

"Huh?"

Charlie pointed at her shoulder and then to him, an apologetic look on her face. "You got a, uh, on your shoulder?"

Moonchild looked over at his shoulder, jolting when he saw the slimy banana peel, an embarrassed flush forming in his cheeks. "Oh! Oh my. There were some gangsters and I, uh, I had to hide."

"In a fuckin' dumpster?" Husk shook his head.

"Under some garbage bags, actually." He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. "Happens every day! Guess I'm used to it."

"Everyday?" Vaggie inquired, eyebrow raised. "Ever thought of, I dunno, taking a different route to work?"

"Well, I'm glad you're okay, Moonchild," Charlie said, flicking the peel off his shoulder, her nose curling. "Ugh… so, once you've had a shower, I'd like you to meet us in the rec room for our first support group session. Y'know, get to know one another."

Moonchild perked up at this. "Oh, okay! Anything I need to bring?"

"Just yourself and a can-do attitude!" Charlie said, clapping him on the back. "We're just happy to have you here! Right, everyone?"

"Woo," said Vaggie, not looking up from the administration charts she was studying.

"Over the fuckin' moon," Husk said, his tone flat.

Ah, well, thank you all so much," Moonchild said, bowing slightly. "I've never been anyplace where I've felt so welc–"

Fast encroaching, machinegun-rapid footfalls announced the arrival of a feral, snarling Niffty. " _I SMELL FILTH! WHERE IS IT?_ _ **WHERE?!**_ "

The tiny, frothing cyclops locked a glowing monocular glare on Moonchild, two additional sets of arms sprouting from her back, talons flexing. " _ **Suffer not the unclean to live.**_ "

She launched herself through the air, her maw a gnashing horror of fangs and froth beneath a glowing, fiery eye. Moonchild squeaked and flinched, arms raised over his head.

"Whoop!" Charlie stepped in and plucked the little bundle of talons and fury out of the air, tucking her under her arm like luggage. "Oh, Niffty, you character! Ha ha! But yeah, you'll probably want to get in that shower sooner than later!"

"Y-yeah, I'll get right on that!" Moonchild said, beating a hasty retreat to his room. "Sorry, Mrs. Niffty!"

Charlie stood and watched until he turned a corner, sighing deeply and shaking her head.

"Pfff!" Husk spat, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "Fishboy needs to untuck it. Act like a man!"

"Husk!" Charlie exclaimed, absentmindedly ducking a talon from the hissing, spitting demoness in her arms.

"He's got a point, Charlie," said Vaggie, handing Charlie a binder clip from her desk. "Hiding in garbage every day? The guy has fucking future vision! No one down here is that soft."

Charlie took the binder clip. "He's not soft!"

"I could spread him on a cracker and serve him with caviar," Husk growled. "The kid's ten-ply! And if he ain't, then he's workin' real hard to seem like he is! Either way, he's hidin' somethin', and that's never a good start."

"That's just it," said Charlie, fastening the binder clip to the back of Niffty's neck, the little demon went limp, her pupil dilating to the size of a small plate. "I don't think he is, at least not consciously. I'll just have to pick his brain some in the support group meeting."

"Get him to let out some of that venom he's holdin' on to," said Husk, pointing to his eye. "It's all in the eyes, Chuck. You get a man on the ropes in a twelve hour game with a deep pot, you see it start to bubble up; that kid's been holdin' it in so long it's drippin' out his pores! There's such a thing as bein' too nice, especially when it's all you _let_ yourself be."

"Yeah…"

Charlie sat Niffty down on the couch and turned on the TV to the housework channel. She sat down next to her and removed the binder clip, Niffty blinked, her eye darting around before locking onto the screen, her extra arms receding back into her body as she watched an elderly demoness knit a quilt.

"Oooh… what exquisite stitching!" Niffty sighed, weaving her fingers together. "And the patterns! Oh! Charlie! We absolutely have to have a knitting session sometime, as part of the therapy or whatever!"

Charlie said something that might have been an agreement, her soft voice lost lost to the ears just down the hall, around the corner. Moonchild sighed, his eyes distant and deeply set in his pale face, his shoulders sloped forward as though under tremendous weight. He set off down the hall to his room.

* * *

The water was warm, a blessing in Hell, and the fact it didn't alternate between scalding and liquid ice at random intervals was nothing short of a miracle. Moonchild leaned forward as the water ran in rivulets off his taut, lean body. He sighed as he watched the suds circle the drain, eyes locked on the grate, peering deep into the black void as it bottomlessly swallowed the filthy water. His brow furrowed and he squeezed his eyes shut, his fist slamming into the porcelain tile with a dull 'thud'. He turned the handle on the faucet far into the red, steam began to fill the shower.

' _You really must learn to stand up for yourself, Moonie._ '

He grit his teeth, letting the hot water spill over him, smarting on his many partially healed stitches.

' _Why do you let him pick on you like that?_ '

"Why?" He pounded his fist against the tiles again, painfully, hot tears mixing with the water. "Why?!"

' _I should like to see it on the floor of my boudoir once your shift is done, understood?_ '

"Please, no…" He sobbed. "No more…"

' _Wouldja lookit that? The one that got away!_ '

He bit his lip, blood dribbling down his chin. "Leave me alone…"

' _Till next time, Moonie!_ '

"Don't touch me… ever again," he growled, grasping the solid steel handrail. "Never again!"

' _Get him to let out some of that venom he's holdin' on to._ '

"Why not?" He bared his teeth, opening his eyes, glaring at his reflection in the chrome faucet handle. "Why not!"

' _There's such a thing as bein' too nice…_ ' He looked inward, to that place, that void, to the place in his soul that had been empty all these long, hard years. That black, inky shadow in the corner, almost solid in its darkness. ' _Especially when it's all you_ let _yourself be._ '

He reached in, into that darkness, that place he'd been afraid to look. Memories flashed. The cruel, predatory look on Her Highness' face, her bloody talons, her crushing grip. The toothy maws of the cannibals, the hungry, hateful gleam in their eyes. That imp, mocking, crude, his wretched paws grasping at him, his foul musk filling the air as he restrained him. Touching him.

Something inside him lurched like a rising gorge, rushing to the top, threatening to bubble over and spill out. With it came feral panic, rage, terror, fury, a desperate, clamoring need that not so much spoke as it demanded, _commanded_.

' _Outoutoutout got to get out! Out! Out! Got to–_ '

Then, it shifted. He could feel it notice, notice him, look through him, look _out of him_.

' _Got to… got to get in…_ '

It flooded into him, filling him, clawing and scrabbling as it subsumed him, pushing him out of the way, dragging him under the surface, under that blackness it so desperately sought to escape. Its thoughts were now more cogent, more purposeful, and suffused with a hideously familiar strength and will.

' _–In! Let me in! Let me in!_ ' It commanded. ' _Let me in!_ '

He opened his mouth and another, familiar voice came out, deep and roaring: "Let me in, Doppio!"

Moonchild's eyes snapped open, the thing was sucked back down from whence it came like a piece of flotsam in a whirlpool, vanishing into the inky waters. He loosed a shrill, explosive gasp, his breath coming in ragged sobbing breaths. For a brief, terrible instant he saw his reflection in the chrome of the shower faucet, obscured by condensation and the uneven surface, but what he saw made his blood run cold in the hot shower.

That wasn't his face.

Those weren't his eyes.

It only lasted an instant, his features reset, became familiar, his eyes returning to their normal hue and not that cruel, hard green they had been. He gasped and panted, feeling as though he'd run a marathon, like he'd climbed a mountain, like–

He looked down at his hands and saw the metal handrail in his grasp, torn clean from the wall, warped and bent like a mangled twist-tie. Moonchild cried out and dropped the heavy rail like it was hot, whimpering as he noticed the obvious grooves his fingers had gouged into the solid stainless steel.

"Wh-what?"

Something flickered out the corner of his eye. He turned to look at the stark white bar of soap at it sat in the alcove, the suds on its surface slowly running off its slick surface. The soap blinked out of existence, in its place was a blocky, older-model cellphone. He jumped back when it loosed a shrill, bleating ring. He clapped his hands over his ears.

That sound, that horrible, insistent sound; grating, pleading, demanding. He couldn't stand it!

His hand snapped out and swatted the phone away, a bar of soap bouncing off the far corner of the stall. He tried to back away, but his feet slid out from under him, his rear bouncing painfully off the hard, wet tiles. Moonchild pulled his knees up to his chest and rolled onto his side, the scalding water peppering his body. He wept as the shower cascaded down on him, his tears washed away as his sobs were drowned out by the pattering water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, Charlie, you *might* not want to dig around in this kid's head, after all.


	4. Psychoid

Chapter 4: Psychoid

Charlie set up the chairs, humming to herself. She was going to set up just two chairs for her patients, but, to her surprise, Vaggie and Husk also wanted to sit in. So, she went about putting chairs out not only for them, arranging them in a circle around a small table bearing a coffee urn, a box of donuts, and stacks of paper cups, just in case anyone else shows up. Things were really starting to take off!

She turned around at the sound of the door opening, it was Angel Dust. "Angel!"

"Sup, toots," said Angel, winking. "Ya plannin' a town meetin' in here?"

"Hi, Angel! Oh? No, no, Vaggie and Husk wanted to join in today... for some reason."

Angel scoffed and shook his head, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Ain't it obvious? They wanna get a bead on the new guy. Last time we picked up a rando, we almost blew the whole roof off the barn! Just like Snatch to vet the guy, and Husk, I'd bet he's got his buds on the horn diggin' up gang shit."

Charlie was somewhat miffed that this was the default reaction to a new face, but also... oddly proud. Vaggie, of course, would move Heaven, Hell, and Earth to ensure her safety, but for Husk to actually stop drinking long enough to do something resembling work?

' _This place must be rubbing off on him~_ ' she thought to herself, smiling, turning to Angel. "Well! I have to say, I like the moxxy! Anyway, find a chair and get comfy, we're going to get to know each other."

"He's a total pussy, what's there t'know?" Angel snorted, crossing his arms, both pairs. "I mean, he's got a nice dick and a tight bod, but the stringbean's soft as overcooked spaghetti. Pass."

"Just as well, I don't think he'd be comfortable with your brand of attention," said Charlie, jotting down this development in her notepad.

Angel turned to her and grinned. "Izzat a challenge?"

The door opened and Husk and Vaggie strolled in, followed closely by Niffty, Razzle and Dazzle who, apparently, decided to come too. Charlie suspected the coffee and donuts had something to do with it. Regardless, she was happy to see them.

"Glad to see you taking an interest in the process," said Charlie as Husk pulled up a chair next to her. "Maybe you'll actually join us one day."

"Hah." The surly drunk grunted, pouring himself a full cup of dark black joe. "Just want to get a feel for this new guy, keep your pants on."

"But these support circles only get fun once the pants come off!" Angel purred, walking his fingers up Husk's leg.

Husk growled and swatted away the intruding hand as Vaggie took a seat next to Charlie. "Swear to God, if he's not joking, I'm gonna have Niffty sew him into his clothes."

Charlie giggled and waved her off. "Oh, no, we try to keep things PG in here. Though I will be gearing up to tackle his promiscuity one day. For now, though, we're focusing on the new guy."

"I gotta admit, I'm curious why he's down here." Vaggie looked over at the door, waiting for him to step through. "I'm not getting a vibe from him, which is weird by itself. I gotta say, I'll be a little let down if it's something stupid like cheating or gambling."

"Maybe he's a closet poonhound," Angel snickered. "Careful, Snatch, he may start humpin' your leg!"

"No..." Charlie said, blushing as she looked at Vaggie. "He gets flustered by that sort of thing."

Vaggie cleared her throat and crossed her arms. "Yeah, be careful what you let the guy touch, he's got powers."

The door creaked open, all heads turned, in walked the little fish demon, fresh from the shower, clean but wearing a thoroughly harrowed expression. He saw the assembled hotel staff and forced a smile, waving to them. "O-oh hello! I didn't expect you all to be here!"

"We're all just so eager to get to know you, Moonchild," Charlie said, gesturing to the seat across from her. "Will that be a problem? If you're uncomfortable with that–"

"Oh, no, no, no! It's fine! I'm fine! I-I'm... just fine."

"Well, that's reassuring," said Husk, rolling his eyes.

" _Husk_ ," Charlie said out the corner of her mouth, gesturing to the chair. "Moonchild, please, have a seat."

He seated himself and fidgeted, looking around at the assembled demons, all their eyes on him.

"Alright!" Charlie clicked her pen and gestured to the crew. "I think some introductions are in order! Now, to make Moonchild feel welcome, let's go around and give our names and history? I'll start! Hi everyone, I'm Charlie Magne, I'm the princess of Hell, I was born here, so, yeah! That's why I'm here.

"And these two..." she said, gesturing at the pair of goats presently guzzling coffee and devouring the donuts. "...Are Razzle and Dazzle. my father made them for me when I was little. They're the chauffeurs, janitors, and musical accompaniment."

"Baah." Razzle said through a mouthful of fried dough.

Dazzle's mouth was too full, so he simply waved while slurping coffee.

Moonchild cocked his head to the side, confused. "Musical–?"

"Vaggie, would you like to go next?"

Vaggie nodded and waved at the group. "Hey. My name's Vaggie, I'm originally from El Salavador, I was an, uh, associate of some rather unsavory characters, Cartel types."

Angel pumped an invisible cock in front of his mouth, pushing his cheek out with his tongue.

"Angel!"

"Well, he's not wrong." Vaggie crossed her arms. "I did some bad shit, muled drugs, took blood money. That's why I'm here. Now, I help Charlie with the hotel and its program as an administrator and manager. Angel, you're next."

"Hi everybody, I'm Angel Dust. I'm originally from New York, but since coming to Hell I've mostly been stickin' with the entertainment bizz. You may know me from such films as 'Well... Okay!', and 'Homo on the Range', and who could forget 'How to Train your Spider'! I was a gangster in life and I did, like, all th'drugs, and was generally a great big slut!"

"Hah!" Husk barked, sneering. "'Was'!"

"Just cuz ya can't afford me don't mean ya need to be so salty, Mittens," said Angel, flipping six simultaneous birds.

"Not even with a rented dick!"

"Ya gotta rent a dick? I told ya to be careful with th' manscapin'!"

"You–"

"Husk." Charlie interrupted, her tone warm but authoritative. "Why don't you go next?"

"Uhhh..." He looked out at the circle of expectant faces, long, red eyebrows canting downward. "Fuck, uh, put me on the spot, why dontcha? My name's Husk, I, uh, gamble and... fuck this. Pass! Roadkill, you're up!"

All eyes turned to Moonchild, who blinked and pointed to himself. "I'm Roadkill?"

"Well, Chuck did dig ya outta her grill before ya got here."

Charlie leaned forward and pat him on the thigh. "If you're not comfortable just yet, that's fine, Moonchild."

"No, no, it's just..." He squeezed his hands shut and took a deep breath, nodding. "Okay! Hello everyone, my name is Moonchild."

"Hello, Moonchild."

He cleared his throat and shrugged. "I'm originally from Sardinia, but spent most of my adult life in Naples."

"Eyy!" Angel cheered, grinning. "A fellow paisan! I thought yer accent sounded familiar."

"And you," said Moonchild. "I didn't want to assume. You said you were from New York, but where does your family hail from?"

"Sicily, both sides." Angel polished his nails on his lapel, looking exceedingly pleased with himself. "S'posedly I gots blood all the ways back t'Rome."

"Rome, huh?" Husk said, laughing sourly. "That explains a lot."

"The fuck–?"

"Husk, Angel, Moonchild is talking," Charlie said, turning back to him. "Please, go on."

"Thank you. As for why I'm here, well...I'm not too sure, myself. I've always gone out of my way to be polite and kind, in truth, I've always been averse to conflict. My old Boss would use me as a middleman and send me to resolve tension among the employees. I don't recall hurting anyone or stealing anything. I've always felt that I don't belong here, that someone made some kind of mistake."

Charlie nodded, jotting down on her notepad. "I see... can you think of anything at all that might explain why you're down here? You mentioned a boss, can you tell us what you did for a living?"

"Oh, ummm..." Moonchild rubbed his chin, recalling. "Oh, well, for a while I was an itinerant worker around Italy, then I landed on a job as an excavator in a Naples-based archaeological expedition to Egypt. Things get... fuzzy, around this time, but I recall helping my future boss secure some kind of transaction, a major transaction that got him a lot of money. What else, what else... oh! Right! I was also the Underboss for the Passione association."

"Egypt, huh? HowsSSSPPT!" Angel spat his coffee back into his cup.

Charlie tapped her pen against her lips. "Yeah that all sounds pretty–excuse me, what was that last part?"

"I was the Underboss for Passione, it was–"

"It was just the most infamous crime syndicate in alla Italy!" Angel spat. "Even I hearda them down here!"

"Heard they held down all of Naples and most of Venice with less than a thousand guys," Husk said, pointing to Moonchild. "And you expect us to believe you were the fuckin' Underboss of that get-up?"

"It's the truth, what more can I say?" Moonchild shrugged. "I honestly didn't do much more than convey the Boss' orders and settle disputes between members. I was his mouthpiece, if any of the members acted against me, they acted against him."

"Scary fucker if none of 'em did," Angel said, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Oh, you have _no_ idea."

"Okay..." Charlie said, choosing her words carefully, hands pressed together in front of her. "That might have something to do with your damnation."

"I never hurt anyone..." Moonchild mumbled, staring at the floor .

"Yes, true," said Charlie, an uneasy look on her face. "Buuut there is such a thing as 'guilt by association', you know? You may not have given any orders or executed anyone, but you were still part of the upper structure of a violent organization."

"But–" Moonchild began to say, biting his lip and nodding. "You're right."

Charlie eyed him up from across the circle, her keen eyes poring over his delicate features. There was resistance there, some reluctance to admit to his wrongdoings, for the first time since she met him she was detecting deception, secrecy, something hidden and buried. Dishonesty with one's self, she was finding, was just as much a roadblock to redemption as genuine lack of remorse.

"Moonchild," she said, leaning forward and touching his knee. "It's okay. We're all here for a reason, and the only way for us to leave is to better ourselves. We're here to support you in this, just like you will support us going forward. Okay?"

Moonchild looked up to her and smiled, something like resolve shining in his eyes. "You're right! If I'm going to get out of here, all I have to do is whatever you say! I mean, you wouldn't go through all this trouble and effort if you didn't know what you were doing!"

A round of rueful grumbles and stifled laughs sounded from the circle, Charlie chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of her neck, eyes darting about. "Ha ha ha... yeah..."

"Well said!" Alastor barked, suddenly standing next to Moonchild.

Moonchild screamed and leapt out of his chair, stumbling over his own feet and tumbling to the floor, crawling away from the looming Radio Demon, his eyes wide with terror. "A-Alastor?!"

"I see we have a new client," Alastor said, offering his hand. "Care for a hand?"

Moonchild glanced at the extended limb, Alastor's ruby talons clenched as a surge of green energy arced between his digits.

Alator's smile widened, his eyes glowing. "Won't you take this poor sinner's hand?"

Moonchild slowly raised a trembling hand, only to have Charlie step in and push Alastor's away, setting herself between the Radio Demon, her arms crossed. "Alastor. What did I say about scaring my clients?"

"That it highlighted my irreverent puckish charm?"

"True, though I recall my exact wording was 'don't'."

Alastor clasped his hands behind his back and laughed ghoulishly. "Ahh, Miss Magne, how you've stepped up! I must say, it warms my heart to see you coming into your own so fiercely. And look! All these happy, hopeful faces! Could redemption be the next big fad?"

"It's too early in the morning for your bullshit, Al," said Husk, taking a hit from his pocket flask.

"It's nine," said Vaggie. "At night."

"Way too fuckin' early."

"I heard there was coffee and donuts!" Niffty chirruped.

"There were," Vaggie grumbled as Razzle and Dazzle scarfed down the fried dough.

Angel Dust helped Moonchild to his feet. "Oh, uh, thank you, Angel."

"Thank me later," said Angel, winking as he licked a donut in an obscenely suggestive manner.

"They're practically angels already!" Alastor cackled, clapping his hands together. "You are truly honing your craft!"

"I'll have you know, we've already made some excellent progress!" Charlie said, smiling as she crossed her arms. "Mr. Moonchild here has already come to terms with his damnation, now it's just a matter of remodeling his soul into a redeemable state, it'll take no time at all!"

"He's already half-way there!" Alastor leaned in, his jaundiced smile taking on a spiteful energy. "Why, you might even keep this one alive!"

The room went silent, the goats froze mid-bite, Niffty gasped, her hands shot to her mouth as Vaggie and Husk exchanged nervous glances. Charlie, her eyes wide with shock, uncrossed her arms, hands balling into fists for a moment before relaxing, her expression fixed and stern. "Alastor. That was uncalled for."

"Fucking grinnin' piece of shit!" Angel snarled, marching over to the leering red deer demon. "Show ya ta fuckin'–"

Charlie's arm shot out, stopping Angel in his tracks. The spider demon looked down and saw the look on her face and relented, pointing at Alastor and spitting, returning to his chair.

"Alastor," said Charlie, her tone as cold as the Ninth Circle. "This is a sinner support meeting, if you're not here to help with everyone's redemption, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Alastor locked Moonchild with a crimson gaze. "A few boos from the gallery, eh? Alright, a good showman can read a crowd! I guess we'll have to get acquainted some other time, little secretary!"

With a bow, Alastor tapped his staff to the floor and disappeared in a squelch of static. The circle deflated somewhat, the tension having finally let slide. Angel seethed in his seat, pouring himself a cup of coffee before holding it out to Husk, who promptly poured a generous amount of whiskey into it. Charlie sighed and massaged her temples, turning to the rest of them.

"Alright... I think that's all for today. We made some pretty good progress, Moonchild." She gestured to him and Angel. "Tomorrow after work, I'd like to see if we could try to get to know one another better. I'm thinking we could try a hobby swap, that's always a good time."

"Oh, yeah," Angel muttered, glaring at his coffee. "Good ol' hobby swap."

"Oh, yes, that'll be very interesting," said Moonchild, uncomfortable with the pall that had fallen over the group.

Charlie smiled without much enthusiasm. "Great. I'll see you all there."

The demons filed out of the room slowly, Vaggie and the Goats accompanied Charlie out the door, their expressions not unlike that of people working with live and unpredictable explosives. Niffty set about cleaning up all the cups and wiping down the table. Angel Dust knocked back his spiked coffee and tossed the empty cup onto the floor, heading off towards the door as he fished a cigarette out of his breast pocket.

"Oh, Angel Dust!" Moonchild said, following after the somber spider. "Hold on a moment!"

Angel turned around and sighed, rolling his eyes. "What is it, kid?"

"I was just thinking, if we're going to be doing this program together, maybe we could–"

"Imma shut ya up right there, kid," said Angel Dust, holding up his hand as he lit the cigarette with another. "Ya gotta sweet face and a nice cock, but y'gotta pay just like everyone else. Goin' rate is a hunnit clams an hour. Two if ya wannit weird."

"What?" Moonchild's eyes went wide and he shook his head fervently. "Oh, no, no, no I'm not looking for that! I just thought we could get to know one another, spend some time together, talk about this redemption thing."

Angel sighed and examined his nails. "Hunnit clams an hour."

"Oh, I, uh, don't really have much money..."

Angel leaned over until he was face to face with the smaller demon, lip curled over his sharp fangs. "Then why are ya wastin' my fuckin' time?"

Moonchild said nothing, looking at his feet, wincing when Angel Dust puffed a cloud of acrid smoke in his face. Angel Dust scoffed and stormed out of the room, taking a heavy drag on the cigarette. Moonchild balled his fists, squeezing until blood threatened to flow as his claws dug into his palms.

"Don't take it personal, kid."

Moonchild turned around to see Husk, reclined in the chair, a cup of what was only partially coffee in his claws. "Huh?"

"The Bug, he's usually less of a raw nerve." Husk took a sip of his coffee and pointed at his face. "That grinnin' shitheel dropped in and done poked a tender spot for all of us."

Moonchild nodded, he'd noticed that much, even Charlie looked like she was going to punch something. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

Husk grunted waved him over, patting the seat next to him. "Well, if you're gonna walk this path, I might as well tell you where the landmines are. C'mere."

Moonchild sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee, opening his mouth to protest when Husk moved to pour whiskey into it, but was silenced with a chiding glare.

Husk sat back and scratched his nose. "Awhile back, when the hotel was just starting out, we got this new client. A demon by the name of Mr. Clean. 'Course we didn't know that at the time, he called himself Kira. He was this quiet, stone-faced motherfucker with no sense of humor. He was also a violent serial killer who collected women's hands. Nice guy, huh? But that's just it, he came to us a right fucked up psycho who had about as much humanity as a pet rock, but after spendin' a bit of time here, he... changed. It's hard to really explain it, since it's not like he started smilin' and singin' and dancin' like Chuck, but he got, I dunno, better. He and Angel, they got close. I think the Bug actually fell for the lunatic, and I can't say the feelin's weren't mutual, if I'm being honest..."

"What happened to him?" Moonchild took a heavier swig of his spiked coffee, wincing at the alcohol. "Did he cross over? Redeem himself?"

Husk sighed and shook his head. "There was some gang shit that followed the guy here. Long story short, he got himself killed savin' us, all of us. Chuck and Angel took that pretty hard, and even I didn't hate the guy by the end. So, that's what happened back there. That smug smilin' jackass knows a sore spot when he sees it, and just loves to give 'er a poke."

Moonchild stared into his cup, his reflection staring back at him from the opaque liquid. He was dead? Wasn't he redeemed? Is it even possible? What was he even doing here, risking his position in Stolas' employ for a pipe dream?!

"Hey," Husk said, beckoning him closer. "I'm not, like, 100% on this place, but I've seen a lot more people bite it than I care to count, and what I saw that day I ain't never seen before."

"What did you see?"

"Smoke. This weird, golden smoke." Husk gestured to his chest and pointed to the ceiling. "It came streamin' outta him, it was glowin' like... I dunno. Never seen the like. The guy came to us a stone cold killer and wound up givin' his life to save us, then this weird holy-looking smoke pours out of him when he dies? Yeah. I'd bet good money that Chuck's onto somethin'."

Moonchild leaned in, whispering. "Do you think he got redeemed, that he went to Heaven or wherever?"

Husk shrugged, leaning back. "Who can say? Point is, folk around here prefer to think he made it, Angel especially. Don't let him catch you doubtin' the program, the Bug's got an exorcist's knife and he's not afraid to carve a fucker up."

Moonchild nodded somberly, finishing up his coffee. "I see now. Thank you for telling me."

"Don't mention it," Husk grunted and scratched his belly, standing up and heading for the door. "Oh, and kid. One more thing."

"Yes?"

He turned around and pointed, his stare withering. "I dunno what you did to get down here, but it really don't matter. This ain't a game of pinochle, y'can't bluff yer way out. It's gotta come from you, and you have to want it. Y'have t'be honest. Whatever shit yer keepin' to yerself, that's gotta come out if you wanna get redeemed. Either way, you got some work ahead of you, but so does everyone else. Let Chuck do her thing, what's the worst that could happen?"

He made to leave when Moonchild called out. "Mr. Husk!"

Husk turned around and what he saw made his hackles rise: Moonchild was sitting there, looking like a beaten dog, but there was something in his eyes, his tired, sad eyes, that put Husk's teeth on edge. For the barest moment they flickered, shifting from fuchsia to bright jade green, with all the warmth and humanity of the color's namesake rock.

It was only for an instant, the lad was back in an instant, his expression shifting to that familiar passive amicability. "Thank you for your feedback. I'll do my best."

* * *

  
Charlie stormed into her office, dropping down behind her desk and into her chair, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. She gingerly massaged her temples as Vaggie and Razzle entered the room. Their careful movements, their measure steps, all grated on her nerves. Part of her wanted to snap at them for treating her like a bomb that could go off at the slightest jostle. Then, realizing what a self-defeating exercise that would be, simply bent over and lightly slammed her forehead into her desk with a dull thud.

"Poop."

Vaggie was at her side in an instant. "Hey, babe."

"Bah?" Razzle asked.

"I'm okay," Charlie mumbled, face-down on her desk. "I just gonna sulk for a bit."

"Well, let's sulk together, huh?" Vaggie said, pulling up a chair. "Other than that last bit, I think tonight went pretty good!"

"You do?" Charlie said, turning her head on the desk, looking up at her.

Vaggie shrugged and gestured 'so-so'. "Eh."

Charlie groaned and sat back up. "I bet Moonchild think's we're all a bunch of loons, now."

"What? No!" Vaggie said, patting her on the shoulder. "Why would he think that?"

"Because we hang around with the Radio Demon? Because said Radio Demon thinks we're all a bunch of idiots? Because of the whole 'redemption is bullshit' thing?" Charlie said, her tone flat. "All three? Yeah. Probably all three."

"Charlie, don't let Alastor get to you," said Vaggie, casting an arm over Charlie's shoulders, pulling her close. "You know he's just pissed you were right."

"Right about what?"

"About the hotel, about the program, about people," said Vaggie, leaning in to boop her on the nose. "About everything. That musky, leering dipshit literally did a whole song and dance about how demons are irredeemable and the hotel is a joke. And what did you do? You went and took the baddest, most feared assassin in all of Hell and turned him into a giant pussy-cat!"

Charlie smiled despite herself, glancing over at Vaggie. "I wouldn't go that far."

"Oh please!" Vaggie scoffed, grinning now, batting her eyes. "All you'd have to do was bat your eyes and ask nicely and he'd have let you rub your face on his tummy!"

"Pssh!" Charlie laughed and returned the hug, donning an exaggerated expression of longing. "If only!"

"You thirsty bitch," Vaggie said, rolling her eye.

"Aaaaaabbssss~" Charlie said, rubbing her face and laughing.

Vaggie joined her and they leaned on one another as the tension melted away with their laughter. Charlie slowly looked over to Vaggie, sighing heavily as she reached up and cupped her cheek with her hand. "Thanks, Vaggie."

"I'm here for you, hun," said Vaggie.

Razzle, eyes full of happy tears, fluttered up to them and wrapped his arms around them in a hug. "BAAAAH!"

"Right, right. _We're_ here for you."

Dazzle stepped in through the door and flew over to them, a tall mug of steaming tea in his hoof.

Charlie sniffed it and smiled. "Camomile? Oh, you guys know me so well! Bring it in! Group hug!"

The four drew in close and embraced on another, smiling contentedly as a fifth, much larger set of arms wrapped around them.

"Ah yes!" Alastor crooned, giving them a squeeze. "One big happy family!"

The quartet's eyes snapped open, their smiles instantly replaced with shock and horror. An instant later they were on the opposite side of the desk, warily watching the chuckling horror.

"Alastor!" Charlie exclaimed, standing up. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, Miss Magne! Isn't it obvious? I saw a wholesome, team-building moment and decided to partake! Not everything I do is part of some sinister scheme or devious deed. Is it so hard to believe that I sincerely wish to assist you and your team in your estimable endeavor?"

Charlie folded her arms across her chest, her glare withering. "Yes."

"Oh!" Alastor cried, hand to his heart in a maudlin display of affront. "You wound me!"

"What do you want, asshole?" Vaggie growled, slamming her hands down on the desk. "What makes you think we'd believe you want to help, after what you just pulled?!"

"Ah, and here I thought this place gave everyone a second cha–"

A keening metallic 'shing' cut the air as Vaggie leveled her massive, seraphic harpoon-tip at Alastor's neck, her speed actually making him blink and draw back. "Speak. Plainly. _Dick_."

Alastor's grin shrank into a smirk as he pushed the blade away from him with a crimson talon. "Oh, alright! You were right. Is that what you so desperately wanted to hear?"

Charlie stepped forward and bade Vaggie to lower her harpoon, cupping her hand to her ear. "Excuse me?"

"You were right about redemption," said Alastor before wagging a finger. "However, I maintain that most who pass through these doors will fail most spectacularly!"

"So, I was right." Charlie smirked and steepled her fingers, a playful moue on her face. "And _you_ were...?"

"Gloating becomes you, Miss Magne," said Alastor, eyebrow cocked. "And I... was wrong."

"Mmmm..." Charlie closed her eyes and savored it, smiling like she'd just had a sip of good tea. "One more time."

"Don't push your luck."

Vaggie stepped in, an unimpressed look on her face. "Alright. What do you want? You wouldn't pretend to apologize if you didn't want something."

"Why, Miss Vaggie, I'll have you know I am fully capable of admitting fault without ulterior motive." He eyed her up, his grin immovable as always. "Though such a occurrence eludes documented precedent."

"Just spill it!"

"Very well, I just thought I'd let you know, Prince Orobas is in something of a tizzy. Some clap-trap about troubling visions and signs."

"So?" Charlie said, crossing her arms. "Orobas freaks out over everything! He once sent twenty legions of elite warriors to destroy a neighborhood because a fortune cookie he bought there matched his horoscope!"

"What, really?" Vaggie said, incredulous.

"Hey, cut him some slack," said Charlie, shrugging. "Being a prophet in Hell would make anyone jumpy."

Alastor cackled and slapped his knee. "One of my better pranks, if I do say so myself!"

"That was you?!" Charlie said, outraged. "They slaughtered millions!"

Alastor paused for a moment and then laughed even harder.

"So the guy's a hair-trigger," said Vaggie, crossing her arms. "You know that, so what's special about this time?"

"Ah, well," Alastor said, his tone becoming something resembling severe. "He's dispatched Grand Duke Sallos to investigate."

Charlie's eyes snapped open wide. " _Oh_."

"What?" Vaggie turned to Charlie. "What does that mean?"

"Sallos is a very old, _very_ powerful member of the Goetia Family." Charlie seated herself on the desk, it felt as though an immense weight had been set upon her shoulders. "So powerful, my father selected him and two other Dukes to be the peacekeepers among the Inner Circle, sent to resolve internal disputes and maintain law and order."

"Law and order in Hell?" Vaggie scoffed. "Didn't you say he printed and enforced those stupid lawbooks just to annoy anarchists?"

"You don't understand." Charlie shook her head. "They... **_we're_** different. Once you get into the upper brackets of the Goetia Family, my father's court, the Nephilim, maintaining a strict of code of conduct, we call it 'decorum', is absolutely vital. A bad enough feud between sufficiently powerful demons could cause the seven rings to collapse, and send all the souls within plummeting into the lower circles, the into the Abyss. Peacekeepers like Sallos are only summoned when such a threat arises."

Vaggie was silent, her eye wide as a harrowed look spread across her face.

"So..." Charlie said, slowly turning to Alastor, dreading the answer. "What does that have to do with us?"

Alastor shrugged, amusement returning to his staticky voice. "Maybe nothing."

" _ **Alastor**_."

"Refresh my memory, what does our newest rehabilitee do for a living?"

"He's a secretary." Charlie sighed and massaged her temples, a migraine was a-brewin'. "...For Prince Stolas."

Alastor winked, tapping his nose and pointing at her. "Ding ding ding!"

"Stolas is under investigation?" Vaggie said, having snapped out of her shock. "What for?"

"Don't know, even my sources have limits. But it's him and a few other major players getting the ol' snoop," said Alastor, his hands clasped behind his back. "One of whom is a ranking member of Ol' Snorkle's crew. Now, I'm not one to believe in coincidences, so I'd say the little fish warrants a closer look, wouldn't you, Charlie?"

Charlie digested this for a moment; part of her warned against falling for another one of Alastor's pranks, to be drawn into some spiteful scheme by the bored, malicious entity. But another, deeper part of herself suspected, no, knew he was telling the truth. Alastor was many things, and chief among them was 'prideful'. He would not even _feign_ contrition if it wasn't absolutely necessary. And if he was right, and her client was in some way related to the ducal investigation, all the more reason to prepare and bring her biggest guns to bear on the problem.

"...Okay. You can be part of the team and participate in treatment. But No funny business! They're my patients, they're under my protection! No matter what we find out, you can't harm any of them! Deal?"

Alastor's aura glowed and undulated, the lights flickered and dimmed, vanta-black tendrils writhed in the long, deep shadows of the room as his awesome might was brought to bear. He turned to face her, his face a leering horror of teeth and eyes as wing-dings and glyphs floated in the air around him. He extended his hand, green energy flashed and arced as he prepared The Pact.

Charlie hesitated for a moment before swallowing her fears and taking his hand. The Pact flared with a buzzing cry, Vaggie and the Goats were thrown back by the force of the two demonic auras clashing.

The Pact was sealed.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Magne."


	5. Psychopomp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year everybody! I bring you a belated gift, the gift of cute suffering fishboys!

Chapter 5: Psychopomp

The royal limo growled to life, sounding to all around like a bellowing dragon, flames of every color belched from the elaborate headers like a demonic pipe organ. The Prince's steed set off down the road at impossible speed, arcs of lightning and streaks of fire filled the air around it as it sheared through the fabric of reality, vanishing in a starbust of light and a low, bass thud. Prince Stolas was off to conduct his mysterious business.

Octavia sighed as she watched the limo vanish, blaming herself for her disappointment. She should have seen this coming, her father was in a similar tizzy yesterday, too. Him cancelling their weekly father-daughter get-together shouldn't have come as a surprise.

It still sucked, though.

She walked down the hall to his office, hoping to pick the brain of her father's dutiful secretary. Few things got under her dad's skin enough for him to actually change his precious schedule, so it was a matter of some interest to her to find out exactly what had managed this time around. She approached the door, hand reaching for the door when she heard voices, obscured by the heavy Abyssal-oak door. Octavia leaned down and cocked her head, her keen owl ears detecting even the slightest sounds; their tones weren't raised, but she could sense the crackle of agitation in the air. There was a demon in there, a very powerful, very annoyed demon.

"I-I'm sorry! You just missed him!" A familiar voice exclaimed.

Another, far deeper voice resounded, carrying with it a very familiar Received-Pronunciation. "Call him back here."

"I can't, My Lord! I don't know which ring he's going to, I–"

" 'Your Excellency'," the deep voice rumbled, the air becoming electrified with outrage. "My honorific is 'Your Excellency', _peon_."

Octavia burst through the door, her expression hard-set. "Leave him alone! He doesn't know… anything…"

Her command tapered off as she looked up at the hulking figure towering over a cowering Moonchild. The huge, muscular demon straightened out and turned around. His skin was gray as ash and blemishless as marble, contrasting with the slick, creosote black of his three-piece suit and glowing crimson-red tie. His bald head shone in the florescent lights of the office, two orange-within-red eyes peered out from beneath a heavy ridge alight with burning brows. A large, perfectly sculpted beard grew from his lantern jaw, it was dusty gray and glowed dim orange from within, like old embers breathing their last. His massive shoulders bunched upon seeing her, his scowling face softening, his glowing eyes wide.

"Uncle Sally?"

His stern, severe features melted into a handsome, fanged smile. "Via?"

Octavia beamed and threw her arms open. "Uncle Sally!"

"Via!" He bellowed a laugh that shook the palace's foundations, rushing forward, his tree-trunk arms spread wide. "Look at how you've grown! Oh, how are you, poppet?"

"Well, I had some plans fall through, but I'm doing fine. How about you?" Octavia said as she disappeared in the giant duke's embrace, she looked up at him, a crease of concern spreading across her face. "You're not here on _business_ , are you?"

"Er… well…" He released her, looking over her face. "Did I hear you have a free morning? Well, love, so do I! Why don't we talk about it over some coffee?"

She looked over his shoulder at Moonchild, who was silently thanking her with his eyes. She turned back to Sallos and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds great. Just let me grab some things, okay?"

"Of course, pet," he said following her out, turning around to close the door behind them.

He locked the secretary with a smile, an all too familiar smile, an apparently practiced smile among nobles. "See you around."

* * *

Sallos and Octavia stood on the sidewalk outside the estate, the air split with a thunderous crack as the barrier between rings cracked, the Duke's limo streaking into view from the rip in reality. The limo, a dark green affair, held about it the air of a massive crocodile, the wheel-wells shaped into limbs ending with gold claws, its extended hood lined with snarling gold fangs. The Duke waved and the door opened, he bowed and directed her in, which she obliged.

Sitting on the opposite side of the limo was Captain Gallia, dressed to match her Uncle's style. She was a fierce and powerful warrior who seemed to follow her Uncle around everywhere. Even the most powerful Overlords skulked away when she walked the streets of Hell, and the lower rungs of the Goetia family took careful notice when she spoke. She was stern and professional, a hardened warrior of countless millennia, she neither gave nor took any bullshit, not even from royals.

She was so fucking cool.

…And distractingly sexy.

"Hey, Captain, how're you holding up?"

"Holding up all of Hell, as usual, Highness," said Gallia before leaning forward, smiling. "Love your outfit."

"Oh, thanks!" Octavia said, blushing. "Y-you too."

The Duke managed to fit his huge frame into the vehicle and snapped his fingers. The limo gently rolled away from the estate and, in a flash, was off.

"Are there any coffee places you prefer, poppet?" Sallos said, gesturing to Gallia. "Or would you rather have some at my place? Gallia here makes an incredible lemoncake, and my staff are the finest coffee artesians in all of Pride."

"Peacekeeping and caffeine go hand in hand," said Gallia.

Octavia thought of the wallowing staff and her Uncle's dour peacekeeper demons no doubt patrolling the estate. "Errm… nah, I have a favorite place in Gluttony, if that's okay."

"Oh-ho?" Sallos said, flaming eyebrow arched. "Do tell."

"It's called _Umbric Brewhaus_ , they specialize in dark poetry and black coffee. You're not even _allowed_ to have milk or sugar!"

"Oh, ah…?" Sallos glanced at Gallia, who shrugged. "…That's nice?"

"They also have a good menu and play good music." Octavia turned to Gallia. "Uhm, what sort of music do you listen to, Captain?"

"The death rattles of the enemies of the Luciferian Reign, the sound of rebel blood spilling by the gallon," said Gallia, tapping her fine, pointed chin with a talon. "Also Neo-Prog and Experimental Jazz."

"You'll love this place, then!"

* * *

Dark, brooding poetry droned over the speakers as discordant lounge music played from the live band. The decorating was overwhelmingly dark, with onyx floor tiles and ebony wooden furniture, the occasional splash red from strobelights broke up the blacks and grays, casting crimson pillars through the thick atmosphere, heavily pregnant with the oily smell of dark brew and cigarette smoke. A demoness in a revealing gothic outfit nervously approached the table. Captain Gallia stood near the royals, moved to intercept the server.

"Stand down, Captain," said Sallos, smiling handsomely at the petrified waitress. "Approach."

"Th-thank you, Y-Your Excellency," she stammered, bowing and handing them the menus. "W-what can I get you all today? The special is _spaghetti al nero di sepia_ with Kraken ink and a side of black cross buns or dark czernina."

"I'll have that, czernina as a side," Sallos said. "Pairing?"

"W-we don't carry a wine that pairs well, Your Excellency," she said, pointing a trembling finger at a sign that read 'no whites'.

"Ohhh, so that's what you meant," Octavia said, chuckling uncomfortably. "I thought it meant… something else."

"No problem," said Sallos, snapping his fingers. "Kraken ink demands a softer wine, I think."

The waitress flinched back as a pillar of flame flared to life on the table, a bottle of Sancerre Rosé left in its wake.

"Fetch an ice bucket for that, will you?"

"Y-yes sir-uh-Your Excellency," she said, taking his order. "Would you like anything to drink in the meantime?"

"Espresso."

"Good choice, Your Excellency." She turned to Octavia. "And for you, Highness?"

"Coffee to start, and I think I'll have the charcoal burger and abyssal fries. Hmmm… anything for you, Gallia?"

Gallia shook her head, eyes inscrutable behind her dark sunglasses. "No, thank you, Highness."

With that, the waitress bowed and left, Gallia re-assuming her position beside the table.

"Charcoal burger?" Sallos chuckled. "I do hope that's not literal."

Octavia giggled, shaking her head. "No, just black bread and black food dye. The abyssal fries are cool, though. They're covered in vantablack, they look like they're not even there. It's a theme."

"I noticed."

They were silent for a moment, the droning poetry and desultory music carried along the air like smoke. It was Sallos who spoke first. "Want to talk about it?"

Octavia looked around, the restaurant was half-full, demons milled about. "Here?"

"Don't worry, pet," said Sallos, raising his voice clear across the music. "I'm sure no-one in a classy establishment like this would be so impolite as to eavesdrop!"

The multitude demons near them hurriedly got up, moving their tables and chairs, giving them plenty of space.

Octavia steeled herself, locking eyes with Sallos. "Is dad in trouble?"

"Yes."

Octavia shook her head, leaning forward. "How bad?"

"Bad," Sallos said, his tone grave. "I wanted to meet him today to warn him."

She put her palm to her face. "It's about that imp, isn't it? Him and his fucking book."

Sallos nodded. "Partially. We were aware of this indiscretion well before the event transpired."

"Is he…" Octavia lowered her voice to a whisper. "Is he going to have to go before the Council?"

Sallos shook his head. "The Inner Circle rejected my request for a subpoena, punishing him for simply being tangental to a crime would set a poor precedent, regardless of the severity of said crime. They're covering their backs for their own future transgressions."

She rolled her eyes, that sounds about right. "What happened?"

Sallos' eyes darted about, he leaned in a, his voice low. "A few months ago, a team of demons and your father's imp friends used a grimoire to break into the Vault on Earth-1. Your _father's_ grimoire. They stole something very, _very_ dangerous."

"The Vault?" She said, hushed awe clear in her voice. "What was it?"

They sat back as the waitress walked over, she bowed and set a tall cup in front of her and a tiny espresso cup in front of him. With another bow, she left.

Sallos waited for a moment until the waitress was well away before saying: "…The Saint's Corpse."

Octavia gasped, this was bad. "It's in Hell? Where?!"

He shook his head. "We don't know. The team that extracted the corpse was hired to do so, and Lucifer's law dictates that they are not only not culpable, but that we also respect their customer confidentiality. We do, however, have some prime suspects."

"And what about Blitzo? Have you questioned him?"

Sallos shook his head again. "Didn't bother, they were hired by the team just as the team was hired by our suspects. Because a service has been rendered and a payment accepted, they are not culpable. However, it was your father's grimoire, which he illegally lent to that imp, that made this possible."

Octavia but both her hands to her face, taking a deep breath before running her fingers through her head feathers. "But he's not going to the Council?"

"No." Sallos said, leaning back in his chair. "But that's possibly more dangerous. Decorum or no, your father will likely be subjected to independent punitive measures. That means you and your mother are in danger, too."

"That's probably what he was out doing today…" Octavia slumped in her chair, her shoulders suddenly very heavy. "Oh, dad… why'd you do it?"

"You can't judge him too harshly, poppet," said Sallos, a gentle smile on his face. "He's in love."

"If you can call it that!" Octavia scoffed, throwing up her arms. "I have no idea what he sees in him. Blitzo's always so annoyed when they're together, but they do stuff together all the time! Movie nights, shopping sprees! Christ! It's like they're horny teenagers who fuck all the time but can't stand each other!"

"I've looked into this imp," Sallos said, steepling his fingers. "He's had a rough life, many let-downs and heartbreaks. He strikes me as someone who's afraid of caring too much, afraid of the intensity if his own emotions, but fears loneliness even more. I do believe there is some reciprocation to your father's feelings, though it remains well hidden under insincerity and hostility."

"Oh, don't tell me…"

Sallos donned a scholarly expression. "He is what I believe the kids call 'tsundere'."

"Ha ha ha ha, Uncle Sally!" Octavia laughed, despite herself. "Do _not_ apply anime archetypes to my dad's love life!"

"Ojou-Uke likes his semes feisty!"

"Ewww!" Octavia laughed, louder now. "Shut up~"

"It's so good to see you smile, Via," said Sallos, sipping his espresso. "I wish you had reason to smile more."

"Thanks for telling me all that, Uncle Sally. I know you didn't have to, I mean, you probably aren't even supposed to, are you?"

"No, but…" He shook his head, reaching across the table and taking her hand in his. "`You deserve to be happier, Via. I wish I could help you more."

She reached out and patted his hand. "You've helped plenty. Just knowing what's going on… thank you."

The limo ground to a stop outside the estate, the door swung open and out stepped Octavia, who gestured at the palace. "Are you sure you don't want to come in and wait for him to come back? Mum would love to catch up."

"As would I," Sallos said, waving her off. "But, I'm afraid I'm needed back on the job. Tell your father what I told you, if he doesn't know already."

"I will," Octavia said, nodding. "Thanks for lunch, Uncle Sally."

"It was my pleasure, Octavia! So good to see you well," said Sallos, reaching out to her. "Oh, and Via?"

"Yes, Uncle Sally?"

"Be safe."

Octavia smiled and nodded, stepping back as the limo rumbled away, waving goodbye as it vanished in a flash.

Sallos and Gallia sat in silence as the limo wove between dimensions, tension thick in the air. Sallos gazed out the window and into the abyssal black of the space between spaces.

It was Gallia who broke the silence. "Was that necessary, Your Excellency?"

"Are you questioning my motives, Captain?" Sallos rumbled. "My loyalty?"

"Your objectivity, Your Excellency," said Gallia, bold as ever. "If the order comes–"

" _When_."

" _When_ the order comes," said Gallia. "She will be the most effective target."

"I'm well aware." Sallos turned back to her. "You would not hesitate to execute her, would you?"

"Not for a moment, Your Excellency." Gallia paused and sighed. "And it would be with me until the End of Days."

Sallos grunted in agreement as the limo rematerialized in the Ring of Wrath. There was a flash and, the next instant, a severe-looking demon with glasses was sitting next to Gallia. He wore a trim white suit with bands of red, on his chest was a crimson apple broach, the seal of a Luciferian messenger.

"Your Excellency Grand Duke Sallos, Prime Peacekeeper of the Inner Circle, Defender of Decorum, Lord of–"

"I know who I am, insect," Sallos growled. "Deliver His decree and begone."

The messenger nodded respectfully and handed him a sealed scroll. "Enclosed."

Sallos broke the seal and unraveled the scroll, his brow furrowing as he read the dreaded orders. "Gallia, tell the driver we're to travel to Pride, immediately. I need to prepare a task force."

"Understood." Gallia did so, turning back to Sallos when she did. "Specifics?"

"Lucifer has decreed that, while Decorum is to be observed, unofficial punitive actions are to be taken against Prince Stolas. The death of a loved one has been 'suggested' and repercussions will be minimized. This decree expires upon the execution of aforementioned punitive action."

"Hmm…" Gallia rubbed her chin, the ghost of a smile spreading across her savagely beautiful face. "A 'loved one'? That's rather… vague."

Sallos nodded, smiling. "Specificity is anathema to Lucifer. The man loves wiggle-room."

He turned to the messenger. "You. This decree has been delivered to all the Inner Circle?"

"No, Your Excellency. Lucifer specified that you receive the decree first, to 'get your poop in a group'."

"ETA on the official decree?"

"Forgive my glibness but 'soon', Your Excellency."

"Hmm…" Sallos leaned back in his chair, chin resting on his knuckles. "Seems that Lucifer wants this squabble resolved cleanly. If we exact the punishment first, our way, none of Stolas' rivals can blunder in and start a blood feud. Target selection is key."

"Prince Stolas only loves his daughter," the messenger said, unwisely, as the limo once again entered the abyss. "She'd be the only appropriate target."

Gallia opened the door behind him and Sallos' leg streaked out out in a mighty kick, sending the messenger flying backwards out into the nothing between everything, flailing and screaming forever in the timeless realm of the abyss.

Gallia closed the door and crossed her arms. "Ideas?"

Sallos grinned, toothily. "A few."

* * *

"Hobby swap~!" Charlie cheered.

"Baaah~!" Razzle harmonized.

"BAAAH~!" Dazzle finished with a crescendo.

Vaggie smiled lovingly, clapping while Husk growled and clapped his hands over his ears. Angel Dust sighed and rolled his eyes. Moonchild smiled and clapped as Niffty waved to Alastor, who was standing the corner, watching and smiling.

"Alright! So good to see everyone back. Niffty, Husk… Alastor. So good to see you all getting involved in the program!"

"I got my reasons," Husk grumbled, shooting an oblivious Moonchild a sideways look.

"I follow the mess," Niffty chirruped. "Mess follows you guys. Q.E.D."

"Well, anyway," said Charlie, pointing to Moonchild. "Moonchild! Any questions?"

"Oh, uh, well," he said, looking at the demons around him in a circle. "What's a hobby swap?"

"I'm glad you asked!" Charlie shot to her feet and did a pirouette. "Just like every demon has a shred of good inside them, we all have our own hobbies! Activities that fill us with joy! The point of the hobby swap is to help us get to know one another and potentially find a new calling in life. Now, why don't you start us off? What are your hobbies, Moonchild?"

Moonchild paused, considered this for a moment, tapping his chin, thoughtfully. "…Well, I'm a secretary I log files and construct schedules based on–"

Charlie broke in, smiling gently. "While I like to hear that you take so much pride in your job, what we're mostly after here is what you do in your off time. What you do to make yourself feel better."

Moonchild's brow furrowed, his hands bunched up on his lap as all eyes fell on him. "Uhh… does trying not to get eaten count?"

The energy of the room deflated almost audibly, Charlie pinched the bridge of her fine, pointed nose for an instant before bouncing back. "Alright! Well, what about hobbies from before? When you were alive? You had to have some fun things you did as a kid, right?"

Moonchild, for the first time since he could remember, tried to recall his childhood. Not just general details like where and when, but events, actions, people.

 _Nothing_.

To his horror, his life didn't seem to start at all until some time in his late teens, when he…

A terrible feeling of dread and panic, of guilt and horror, surged within him for a brief moment before he instinctively shoved it back down into that clawing void at the bottom of his soul, where such troubling things belonged.

"Oh, you know, just normal kid stuff. I, uh, liked bugs, I guess, but generally I don't really know much about them. I… like to play ball?"

"Do you like cooking?" Niffty said.

Moonchild laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I burn cereal."

"Do ya play games?" Husk asked. "Crack a deck? Roll th' dice?"

"Those sorts of games aren't really all that fun for me."

"Howzabout fuckin'? You like layin' pipe at least, dontcha?" Angel inquired, increasingly annoyed.

Moonchild winced, averting his gave to the floor. "Not really..."

"Okay!" Charlie said, clapping her hands together. "Some people live their jobs, and that's okay! Moving on! Angel, how about you? Any juicy tips to share?"

Angel cracked his many knuckles and reached behind his chair, producing a rectangular cart on tall legs terminating in wheels. He pulled a switch at the bas of the box and it whirred. Sections sprouted out from its sides on outriggers as an articulated swathe fanned out before the station, a huge, multi-faceted mirror sprouting out from behind the main body. Once all the whirs and clicks had ceased, a full-scale beauty station stood before Angel, with all manner of bronzer, concealer, contour, powder and primer in every imaginable color or hue. A veritable arsenal of pens, pencils, and highlighters stood in rows above a bevy of styling products, sprays and gels both. Many, many more instruments of beautification stood at the ready in Angel's portable touch-up station.

"Aight, so," said Angel. "Imma show ya basic bitches just how to look ya best in any situation, coordinate colors, and maybe put together a decent ensemble. First, though, I'll be needin' a volunteer."

Angel turned to see a placid-faced Moonchild staring at him expectantly. "Ah, perfect."

He plopped a stool down in front of him and, like picking a puppy from a kennel, plucked Moonchild from his seat and set him down in the stool in front of the beauty station. Angel loomed over the confused little demon, a huge fanged smile on his face.

"Just lay back and think of England, Li'l Fishie!" Angel growled.

"I-I'm Italian."

"The Pope, then."

"Ew."

"Bite the pillow, bitch."

Angel's many arms set to work, a duster here, a brush there, a slathering of foundation all over. Angel's eyes lit up as his vision took hold, his strokes delicate, artful, and confident.

"Viola!" Angel exclaimed, framing his work with his fingers. "Not much I could do wit' th'tentacle thing, but it's fine, I guess."

"I can shift it, if you like," said Moonchild, pointing to the pink mass on his head. "I can make it look like just about anything."

"Bullshit," Angel scoffed, before pinking up a magazine and pointing to the model on the front. "Show me."

Moonchild regarded the picture for a moment and the appendage atop his head shifted and changed, extruding additional tendrils, taking on textures and style mimicking the photo.

"Ho-lee shit," muttered Angel, a smile spreading across his face. "First time I've ever felt hair-envy! Anyway, ta-daaa~!"

He spun Moonchild around on the stool to the impressed gasps and exclamations of the rest of the circle.

Charlie's hands shot to her mouth, a huge smile spreading across her blushing face. "Oh, my goodness, Moonie! You look…"

"Like a girl!" Niffty chirped, clapping.

"Like… a _**hot**_ girl." Vaggie said, a blush forming in her cheeks as Charlie shot her a wry look. "What? I let you off the hook for drooling over hot guys! Lemme enjoy the femboy!"

"Femboy?" Moonchild said, turning to Angel.

"Well, ya wasn't no Grizzly Adams before, but here!"

Angel held up a mirror and Moonchild gasped. His pale face was framed by the many rose-colored extensions of his altered hair, his skin given an even cream foundation that accentuated his shining golden freckles and added definition to his already defined cheekbones, an expert dusting of rouge had added a healthy flush to his cheeks. His lips were coated in lime-green lipstick that matched really well with the cold, hard jade-green eyes staring back at him through the mirror.

Wait.

He blinked and re-examined: his eyes were the same vibrant fuchsia they'd always been.

"Yeah, Kid, yer the prettiest girl at th'ball!" Husk grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Moonchild turned to face him, eyes wide as the air around him seemed to sparkle. "You really think so?"

Husk found himself inexplicably stymied as his heart began to race, a blush burning in his ears. He cleared his throat and turned away from him and towards Charlie. "Are ya really gonna let the bug emasculate the poor kid like that?"

"He don't seem ta mind," Angel said, pointing at the fish-demon as he seemed be examining his eyes in the mirror.

"Ech…" Husk spat, waving him off. "Well, I ain't doing that shit. Here, lemme show ya a real hobby!"

With a flick of his wrist, Husk produced a deck of cards, springing them back and forth before setting them on the table and smoothly spreading them across its surface before scooping them back into an immaculate deck.

"Uh, Husk, as much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I think card games miiiiight be a little close to your addiction to–"

"A-bup-bup!" Husk said, slamming his hand down over the deck. "This ain't gamblin' Chuck!"

He pulled his empty hand away, the deck had disappeared. He snapped his finger and a joker card appeared between them, he turn the single card sideways and turned it into a fan of six cards, which he then collapsed and turn back to face them, once again holding a full deck.

"Oooh!" Niffty said, clapping her hands and giggling. "Husker's gonna do the thiiiing!"

"Pfft!" Angel Dust scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Magic tricks."

"It ain't magic!" Husk snapped, flicking a card at the sarcastic spider. "Any dipshit with powers can spit fire or make it rain blood! Sleight of hand, prestidigitation, _that_ takes skill!"

He turned to Moonchild, the deck in his hand. "Pick a card, kid."

Moonchild did, glancing at it before putting it back: an Eight of Hearts. Husk shuffled the deck, performing an impressive spring back and forth between his hands before plucking a card from the middle of the deck and holding it up: a Jack of Spades.

"This your card?"

Moonchild examined the card and shook his head, an apologetic look on his face. "No, sorry."

Husk blinked in surprise and looked at the card, brow furrowing. "What?! You sure?"

Angel Dust snickered as Moonchild shrugged. "No. My card was the–"

Suddenly, Husk loosed a tremendous sneeze into his hand, sending a veritable cloud of cards exploding into Moonchild's face.

"S'cuse me," Husk sniffled, scratching his nose, he pointed at his forehead and then at Moonchild. "Ya got a li'l somethin' right there."

Moonchild reached up and pulled a card off his forehead and gasped, it was the Eight of Hearts. "It's my card! Amazing!"

Angel cackled and clapped all six hands. "Okay, that was fuckin' cool!"

"I love card tricks!" Charlie exclaimed, elbowing Vaggie who, despite herself, looked impressed.

"The Ol' Sneezy Sucker!" Niffty tittered. "Classic!"

"Whaddaya think of card games now, kid?" Husk said, smirking.

"Oh, I love card games, it's just dice and poker and such don't really appeal to me," said Moonchild, shrugging. "No sport."

Husk cocked his head and sat down next to him. "What that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, didn't I mention?" Moonchild addressed the circle. "Miss Charlie and Miss Vaggie probably didn't tell you all, but I'm a stand-user, or, I was… kind of. Anyway, I have the ability to see 100 seconds into the future, 100 seconds into the past, and have a form of psychometry."

"Psychowhatti?" Angel said, before turning to Charlie. "And why do these superpowered jackasses keep turnin' up here?"

"Thank you!" Vaggie exclaimed, throwing up her arms

"I can see a portion of a person or object's past by touching it," said Moonchild, turning back to Husk. "So, yeah, I always know who's going to call, who's going to fold, who's holding what cards. Same goes for dice, blackjack, roulette, you name it. It just really sucks the fun right out of it, you know?"

Husk's mouth hung open, the sounds of jackpots being struck and fat stacks of poker chips being scooped his way filled his head as a hungry leer spread across his face. "Oh yeah… I can totally see how that'd, uh, just be so, um, terrible. Say! How'd ya like to hang out some time? Grab some drinks, crack a deck, just y'know, have fun?"

Moonchild smiled joyously, his long, webbed ears tilting upwards in happiness. "I'd love to!"

The kid was still done up in his distressingly alluring make-up, and even Husk was willing to admit he looked like a tall glass of water when he smiled. Husk blushed and cleared his throat, waving him off. "Yeah, well, we'll hafta wash that shit off yer face if I'm gonna be seen witcha."

"What the shit?!" Angel shouted, outraged. "I been tryna rub dat belly for months and this little–"

"Eat shit, bug."

Just as Angel and Husk prepared to engage in a yet another bickering session when Charlie broke in, pointing to Alastor as he loomed in the shadows. "Alastor! Any non-murdery hobbies to share?"

Alastor appeared next to Moonshine in a burst of static, leaning over with his hands clasped behind his back. "I make a seafood jambalaya that's _to die for…_ "

"Any non-cannibalistic hobbies?"

Alastor stood up straight and pondered for a moment, snapping his fingers as an idea struck. "I have a pipe-organ made of Furbies!"

Charlie tried manfully to formulate a response, _any_ kind of response, to that, but, words failing her, turned to Niffty. "Niffty! I see you've brought some things!"

"That's right!" Niffty said, jumping to her feet, a duffel bag in her tiny arms, which she opened to reveal many rolls of colored twine, needles, and canvases. "Embroidery! I brought enough for everyone!"

"Great! Everybody grab a canvas!"

* * *

Moonchild absentmindedly drew the needle through the canvas, creating a blue bundle that would eventually become an ocean. He'd always wanted to be a sailor.

…Or did he?

The longer he spent here, the more _questions_ these people asked, the more and more he was coming to an inescapable realization: _he wasn't who he thought he was._  
Most people can remember at least something about their childhoods. Most people had interests and hobbies, things they liked to do, most people had friends. Even if that wasn't the case down here, most people would least have memories of such things from Earth, of friends and family and interests and pass-times.

Not him.

The more he dwelt on it, the more it became clear that there were vast swathes of his life just… gone. Even his memories of Passione, the organization that damned him, was at best a photo album of merely fulfilling his duties as an underboss. That unsettling encounter with the fortune teller, whom he had… just walked away from, apparently? His grueling fight with Risotto Nero, even that was a patchwork of pain and confusion. Did he pass out? How did he survive that fight, anyway? Did Boss save him?

Who was he?

' _Who am I?_ '

Without realizing he moved his thumb into the path of the needle. Moonchild hissed and drew his hand back, examining the small bead of greenish-black liquid that passed for his blood down here form on his thumb. He moved to suckle the wound when he noticed the other blood, the red blood, the **_human_** blood. He looked at his hands, they were covered in rivulets of the stuff. The needle in his fingers, now a huge fishing hook, dripped ruby beads of blood. He became aware of the feeling of soft, warm flesh on his lap, the smooth dark hair spilling over his legs. He looked down and gasped. Between his legs was the face of a woman, her eyes vacant and glossy, barely conscious, finger-shaped bruises ringed her neck. Her full, luscious lips were dripping with blood, sewn shut with heavy fishing line.

He'd never seen this woman before in his life, but he knew who she was.

She was his mother.

Moonchild screamed and shot to his feet, scrambling backwards, tripping over his chair and tumbling to the floor. He scuttled away on his rear, coming to a stop, his rapid breath ripping from his mouth in shrill, shrieking pants.

"Moonchild!" Charlie cried, at his side in an instant. "Moonchild, what is it? What's wrong?"

He looked at her, his eyes huge and almost red in his pale face, he raised a trembling hand and pointed at the canvas.

Charlie reached over and picked it up, it was a crude representation of a shoreline.

"I-I-I…" Moonchild sobbed, tears sending his mascara spilling down his cheeks in dark channels. "I don't know!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just hate it when that happens?


	6. Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a little late, stuff happened, things too.

Chapter 6: Shadow

Moonchild sat, staring vacantly into a cup of cocoa as Niffty pat him on the back. Angel sat nearby, all six arms still at work on his embroidery. Charlie, Vaggie, and Husk stood off to the side, warily observing the innocuous demon.

"What the fuck was that about?!" Vaggie whispered. "Did he tell you anything?"

Charlie shook her head. "No. He won't talk about it. It was like… I don't know, a hallucination?"

"A flashback," said Husk, soberly.

"What?"

Husk shrugged and shook his head. "I dunno. It just looked a lot like what some guys in my platoon came down with after 'Nam. They'd be goin' along, perfectly fine then BAM! Something sets 'em off and suddenly they think they're back in the jungle, shootin' at Charlie."

"At me?"

"Figure a'speech."

Vaggie crossed her arms. "What? You're saying the kid has PTSD?"

Husk snorted. "Wuzzat? Some kinda sex-bug?"

Across the room, Angel sneezed.

"No, no, it's a trauma-induced mental disorder…" Charlie pondered this for a moment, rubbing her chin. "That's something I hadn't considered, actually."

"What?"

Charlie looked over at Moonchild, who was examining Angel's embroidery, a furious blush forming in his cheeks at the doubtlessly lurid image. "What if he has some kind of mental illness? He's clearly suppressing a lot of unhealthy emotions, and his memory of his past seems to be patchy at best."

Husk raised an eyebrow. "What, you sayin' the kid's nuts or somethin'?"

"No, no! I'm saying that he might have suffered a traumatic event early in life and has dissociative episodes where he represses memories. Maybe something he did in some these episodes is what got him sent here? It would also explain why he's so passive, he's trying to wall himself off from further trauma." Charlie sighed and set a hand over her heart. "Poor guy. I can only imagine how confusing this must be for him."

"Well, that's the theory, anyway," said Vaggie. "He could just be lying or playing it up."

"Helluva an act," Husk said, pointing to Charlie. "What's the plan, Princess?"

"I understand your skepticism, Vaggie, but I have to rule out every possibility. As for what's next…" Charlie looked over at Alastor, who was watching Moonchild with peculiar interest. "You're not gonna like it."

* * *

Octavia walked into her father's office, two tall cups in her hands. "Hey, Moonie. Is my dad in?"

"Just missed him, Octavia," said Moonchild, that practiced little smile on his face. "He had me clear his schedule and left in a hurry. Sorry."

"Nah, it's cool," she said, sitting on his now empty desk, handing him a cup. "I figured he'd be out."

"He's very busy nowadays."

"You don't know the half of it," Octavia grumbled, a smiling spreading across her face. "Hey. You said he had you clear his schedule? That means you're free, right?"

Moonchild nodded. "Yes, I'll just be reorganizing the files for the rest of the day."

"Right, okay…" Octavia tapped her talons on the desk. "Nah. You're hanging out with me, now."

"Oh? Well, I can't really take the day off without requesting it ahead of time," said Moonchild, sheepishly. "Sorry."

Octavia smirked and cleared her throat. "Moonchild. As a member of the Goetia family, daughter of Prince Stolas and Princess Stella, and heir to their estate and responsibilities,

I hereby order you to come hang out with me… or something."

Moonchild gave an overdramatic sigh and rose to his feet. "If your Highness insists…?"

"Oh, I insist," Octavia said, gesturing to herself in a grandiose manner. "Your Princess commands it!"

Moonchild bowed floridly. "It would be this humble servant's honor to 'hang out'."

A pause passed between them, their stern, stoic miens cracking as restrained laughter snuck out. Octavia broke first, giggling as she pat Moonchild on the shoulder. "You're too good at that, Moonie."

He chuckled and stood up straight. "Lots of practice."

Moonchild stood before the entered Octavia's room, coffee in hand. It was large and had all the potential to be lavishly decorated, but everywhere one might expect tapestries and swathes of silk, there was bare corners and walls. The furniture, while high quality, was restrained and austere. In fact, the only thing in the room he could classify as properly royal was her bookcase; it was a grand, affair, several meters high and spanning the entire wall, replete with all manner of book, tome, volume, and grimoire.

Moonchild was gawping up at the book case when a hand tapped his shoulder, he turned around to see the gaping, snarling face of a taxidermied chupacabra. He gasped and started away.

Octavia giggled, holding up the stuffed creature. "You like it?"

"It's ghastly!" Moonchild sputtered, clasping his heart.

"Thanks!" She admired the horrid thing and smiled "I ordered it from the spring catalogue of _Stylish Occult_ , it's supposed to be authentic."

"Chupacabras exist?"

"Pssh!" The demonic owl princess scoffed, levitating the statue away with her magic. "Of course not, don't be silly!"

They sat down on her bed and she summoned a large orbuculum. "What would you like to watch?"

"Oh, I don't know," Moonchild said, sipping his coffee. "I don't really watch much of anything. Anything you'd like to catch?"

"Hmmm…" Octavia tapped her beak in thought before she snapped her fingers. "Oh! I know! One of my favorite book series as a chick just got an adaptation. Let's watch that!"

"Okay!"

The adaptation left a lot to be desired, apparently.

"Oh… Bellphoebe…" said Bacchus.

"Oh… Bacchus…" said Bellephoebe.

"I want you…" droned Bacchus. "…To… blow me."

"Oh…" Bellphoebe said, blinking as rapidly as possible. "…Bacc-GLRK! UHK-Ughk... Mmm..."

"Oh… Bellephoebe…"

Octavia lay on her bed, head hanging over the side of her bed, on her belly a bowl of popcorn. "The books were better."

Moonchild glanced at her, a wry smile on his face. "Really?"

"No."

Moonchild turned back to the orbuculum, his expression dreamy. "I rather like it, but then I've always had a weakness for romance."

Octavia giggled and rolled onto her stomach. "Brave of you to admit that. Y'know, you'd get along great with my uncle. He loves rom-coms and those awful Harlequin romance novels!"

"Uncle Sally?" Moonchild said, baffled that such a universally dreaded being had such interests.

"Oof!" Octavia reached out and slapped his knee. "Don't ever call him that to his face, or he'll probably rip yours off!"

"I wasn't planning on it!" Moonchild chuckled, before sighing. "Your family, uh, _scares me._ "

"Good." Octavia swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Ach, well… Uncle Sally's a sweetheart, and Uncle Vual is a great big softy, but they have to put up a face, you know, decorum and whatever."

"What was he–" Moonchild began to ask, before shutting himself up. "Never mind."

"Oh?" Octavia smirked, playfully; it held a hint of that predatory smile that was her family's calling-card, of a predator with cornered prey. "Bit nosy of you, Moonie."

"I-I'm sorry, Highness!" Moonchild shot to his feet and bowed. "That was improper of me!"

"Shush, Moonie. I was just playing." Octavia said, patting the bed next to her. "C'mere. At least I can talk to _you_ about this."

Moonchild sat next to her and she told him of her pleasant lunch with Uncle Sally, one of the most feared demons in Hell. He sensed she was leaving out certain details, but was interested nonetheless.

"…and now we're all in danger! All because my dad had to go play boyfriends with some gun-toting dickhead! All Hell could literally break loose and I don't have anyone to talk to about it! Mum won't hear it, and any of the other royals will probably chop off my head and leave it in my dad's bed!"

"You can always talk to me, Octavia," said Moonchild, a sympathetic smile on his face. "I won't tell anyone. And I'd never even _think_ about decapitating you!"

"I know, Moonie." Octavia giggled and cupped his pale, creamy cheek. "You know… I'm lucky to have you as a friend."

Moonchild's face lit up in a smile, his webbed ears perking up in a way they didn't when he faked a smile. "I'm your friend?"

Octavia felt her heart skip a beat; usually her tastes veered towards the macabre, the unconventional, but not even a connoisseur of counter-culture such herself could deny that this creature was utterly adorable. She blushed and giggled, grabbing his face in both her hands, squishing his cheeks. "Shut up! Of course you are!"

Moonchild smiled like a kid on Christmas and Octavia leaned back, still laughing. She looked down and noticed something strange, a whitish residue staining her palm. She took a moment to sample the substance between her finger.

"Uh, Moonie?"

"Yes, Octavia?"

"Does dad make you, uh, pretty yourself up for work, now?"

Moonchild cocked his head in confusion. "No? Why?"

She held up her hand, revealing the cream-white smudge. "Then, why are you wearing foundation?"

"Oh!" Moonchild turned away, blushing. "Um, well, a f-friend put it on me, you see, and he–"

"A friend?" Octavia said, interested. "You have friends?"

"Well, don't sound _that_ surprised…" Moonchild grumbled.

"Well? Spill it! Is he a _special_ friend?"

He wrung his hands, glancing away, nervously. "No, he's, uh, not really a 'friend'…"

Octavia eyed him up for a moment. "Moonie, what are you hiding?"

"N-nothing! Nothing!" Moonchild exclaimed, shaking his head. "Not me! Not hiding anything! No ma'am!"

"Never play poker, Moonie," Octavia said rolling her eyes. "C'mon! I told you all that just now, didn't I?"

Moonchild drummed his fingers on his thighs, his face scrunched up in consternation.

Octavia sighed pat him on the shoulder. "It's okay, Moonie. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

"No, no, I…" Moonchild took a deep breath and appeared to summon every last ounce of gumption in his slender body. "I'm staying at the Happy Hotel!"

Octavia blinked in surprise. "What?"

"The Happy Hotel," he repeated. "It's this place where sinners go to get reformed. See, hotels are these places that people check into and, uh, leave… so, uh, it's like a–"

"I know what it is. But, like, what are you doing there?"

"…Trying to redeem myself?" Moonchild said, shrugging.

"Like, to get out of Hell?"

"Well, yeah?"

"You want to leave?" She said, her voice quiet.

Moonchild's face… changed for a moment. His eyes flashed green as something alarmingly close to a snarl crept across his features.

He balled up his fists and shot to his feet. "Yes, dammit!"

Octavia flinched away at his outburst. "Moonie…"

"This, all this!" He gestured at her room. "Look at where you live! This isn't Hell! Out there, in the city! That's not Hell, either! But in here…" He tapped his chest. "Here! This. Is. Hell! I don't belong here, Via! I'm not right for this place! I go to bed every night scared, not to die, but to wake up! To wake up and hide from cannibals in the garbage! To wake up worrying I won't be a pretty enough pet for your father! Afraid that your mother will _rape_ me again!"

"She _what?!_ "

"I'm tired, Via…" Moonchild sighed and deflated, seeming to lose all his will and anger with it, leaving only total exhaustion as tears rolled down his cheeks unrestrained. "I'm tired of being scared, and weak, and-and-and–"

Her hand flashed out and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him down and into a tight hug. She gently stroked the back of his head as he sobbed into her shoulder. "Moonie… I'm sorry."

"I'm tired of being me," he sniffled.

"Shh shh shh…" Octavia ran her hand down the back of his neck. "It's okay. I'm sorry, for everything. You want to leave, I support you. You're my friend, Moonie, and I want you to be happy."

"I know. Thank you, Via." He said, pushing away from her, his pink eyes wide and bloodshot. "Uhm… Can I ask you _not_ to tell your father about this…?"

"Oh, God!" Octavia laughed, rolling her eyes. "If he found out Lucifer's kid was trying to steal his favorite secretary. Hah! He'd burn that hotel to the ground."

"Ha ha, yeah…" Moonchild laughed, uncertainly. "Would he?"

"Maybe." She shrugged, reaching up and stroking his cheek. "Don't worry. I won't say a word."

She pulled him into another hug and he whispered in her ear. "Thanks, Via."

He lay back down on the bed and sighed, smiling again. "Phew! Feels good to let that out! I've been so worried someone might find out, I just… Feels good, anyway."

"So, how long has all this been going on, Moonie?" She said, laying beside him with the bowl of popcorn.

He rolled on his side to face her. "About a week. Feels longer, though."

"And when'd you get it into your pretty head to go and redeem yourself?" Octavia popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth. "Actually, what made you think it'd even work?"

"I didn't, not really," said Moonchild, embarrassed. "Uh… see, the Princess kinda, maybe, hit me with her limo and took me home. By accident! But, well, there it is."

Octavia laughed and offered him the bowl. "Getting picked up and taken home by royalty happens to you a lot, huh?"

Moonchild reached out and took a handful. "Seems to be the trend, yes."

"Is it working?" She said, genuinely curious. "Do you feel more redeemed now than last week?"

"It's, uh, it sure is doing _something!_ "

He smiled and laughed in that insincere way that told her something was eating at him.

"Well, if you think it's helping…" she said, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Okay, Via. Thank you."

The train-ride home was more of the same. Fights, murder, drugs, unidentifiable puddles of sticky liquid, but Moonchild felt different.

He felt _real_.

He _was_ real.

He had a friend.

Now all he needed was a hobby! Look out, Charlie, Moonie's on the market!

Just… not embroidery.

His smile vanished as the shrill, bleating cry of a cellphone split the polluted air of the train. It was almost painful in its sharpness, harsh and grating and urgent. He felt his heart begin to pound a steady beat in his ears, his breathing became shallow and rapid. Moonchild's head whipped around, eyes scanning and ears swiveling in a desperate attempt to locate the sound.

He turned his head and stared at a demon sitting next to him, his pocket illuminated by the screen of his screeching phone. The demon, a muscular, tattooed monstrosity of horns and scales, sat with his arms folded across his barrel chest, his expression sour and irritable.

He took notice of Moonchild out the side of his eye. "Yeah? What?"

"Are you going to answer your phone?" Moonchild said, his voice low.

"Nah," the big demon snorted, smiling toothily. "It's probably my cunt-wife lookin' to nag my ear off!"

The little fish-demon's expression hardened, his face shifted, changed, something in his jade-green eyes made the bigger demon's heart skip. "What if it's your boss?"

The big demon didn't like the vibe he was getting and moved to cave the little shit's face in when the content of his question landed. He fumbled for his screeching phone and answered.

"Hello? Who–Hey boss! I–Yes. Yes, sorry, I was–No, no excuses. No. No. No, I don't want you to do that. Sorry, boss. Won't happen again, boss. Right. Yep. Right up my ass, yep. That–No, that's right, I deserve it. Thank you, boss, you're very merciful. Can I help you in some way, boss? …Count Chocula cereal? Boss, that's a seasonal cereal, its _May_ , I–Yes, sir. Yep. Right up my ass, I know. I'll do my best. Will, uh, Cocoa Puffs do if I can't? Yeah… right, I could get some Lucky Charms, pick the marshmallows outta that and–Yeah. That'd do in a pinch? Okay, I'll try and get you them Count Choculas, though. Okay, yep, yep. Right up my ass, I understand. Thank you, sir. Goodbye. …I love you, too."

The demon hung up and exhaled, much paler now; he looked over at the little fish. "Uh, thanks."

Moonchild glanced at him, not a whit of that weird, scary energy from before. "Excuse me?"

Moonchild stepped out of the cab and approached the hotel, feeling lighter, freer, ready to face whatever absurd, twee thing Lucifer's Daughter had in store for him.

At that moment he felt as though nothing bring him down.

He opened the door and a wall of shadows spilled out, enveloping him in total blackness. He stumbled backwards and looked around for any frame of reference, finding none. Something shifted in the blackness over his head. He looked up as the void split to reveal a crooked, yellowed lunette of sharp teeth. Above it, two red, glowing radio dials flickered to life and glowered down at him.

"H̴̶̶̵̷̵̶̴̡̡̙̺̫̞̱̥̘̖̗̜̠̜̗̲͆͢͝ͅe̴̷̵̶̷̷̶̷̢̨̢͍͙̩̯̰͓̘̱̲̺̟̪̟͙̫͆͢l̶̶̶̶̶̴̶̴̨̢̨̹̙̯͈̘̝̙̫̪̠̙̰̠̜͢͜͜l̷̴̶̶̵̴̵̵̡͚̞̞̗͕̮̯̰̻͇͙̹͓̬̞̣͛͢͝o̴̴̵̶̷̵̷̵̧̰̦̙̩̻̗̖͚͈̙̙͚̪̩̣̬̙͛͞,̶̴̵̴̶̶̴̴̧̠̜͓͈̭̜̣̜̗̪̖̜̗̭̺̻̱͜͞ l̵̶̴̴̵̴̶̵̢̨̜̟͙̭̜̭̭̘͚̦̘̫̺͔͛͛͜ͅi̵̷̴̴̶̵̴̴̧̜̮͚̫̜͕̞̗̙̰̲͔̣̲͍̬̭͆͞t̵̷̶̵̵̵̴̶̨͙̪̣̹̞̺͚͔̞̱̱̘̪̰͔̭͛͆͝t̷̶̶̶̶̷̶̴̢̡̨̢̖͇̞̟̫͙͈̟̠̙̘̪̭͇̯̫l̶̶̴̴̷̶̶̴̡͍̭͎̻͙̝̥̟͔̺͕̗̟͙͙̠͆͛͛e̷̵̴̵̷̷̷̴̡̬̤̥͓̺̱̱̟̯̤͇̠̲̗̥̬͆͛͝ s̴̶̶̶̴̶̴̴̢̗̺̪͈̟̠̩̙͇̪̯̙̮̱͆͢͢͞͞ę̷̶̵̶̷̵̷̴̨̧̞͕̹̻̖̜̠͎̙̙͍̮̭͈̮̻̝c̴̷̷̴̶̶̷̵̡̧̢̡̢͕͚͔̮͔̩̹̻̰͓̬̲̫͔ͅr̷̶̶̷̵̵̶̵̨̨̨̠̜̦̖͔̜̖̥̰͎̺̺̰̟̯̥͆e̶̴̵̶̴̶̷̵̡̧̠̤̭̬̰͚̩̗̗̰̟̗̱̩̠͛͛͞t̴̷̷̴̷̷̵̷̡̢̨̲̙̻̭͚͕͇̤͚̪͚̘͔̝͜͞ͅa̶̷̵̵̵̶̵̴̢̧̡̬̖͚͇̤̹͈̫̻͎̺̹̗͈̹͛ͅr̷̴̵̶̴̴̵̴̢̨̢̡͎̟̫̩͙̰͇͚̭̭̙̲̭͎̠͞y̵̶̶̴̵̷̷̵̨͈̠̰̹̺̺̞̙͕͍̠͇̺̭̖̠͓͜ͅ" Alastor crooned.

* * *

"You were right." Vaggie leaned against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed, a scowl on her face. "I don't like this plan."

"He was supposed to wait until I could get his consent!" Charlie shouted at the door as lights flashed and eldritch voices murmured from within the room. "You asshole!"

"Him? An asshole?" Husk said, clapping his hands to his face in faux-shock. "Say it ain't so, Chuck!"

"Well, I don't really have much of a choice here," said Charlie, pacing in the hall nervously. "Besides, he… _probably_ won't try anything."

"Charlie," said Vaggie, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Are you sure about this? Maybe we can, I dunno, try more hobbies or something? _Anything!_ "

"We can't help him until we know more. Moonchild wants to get better, but I don't think he knows what we need, not consciously."

"So, yer gonna let Alastor of all demons root around in his head?!" Husk said incredulously. "I'm with Vaggie here, Chuck, this has 'last resort' written all over it. We should at least _try_ something else first!"

"Moonchild will be perfectly safe," said Charlie turning away from them. "I made a deal with Alastor, he can't harm any of our patients. The Pact will hold him to that."

"Ya don't know him like I do, Chuck. These deals of his have a tendency to backfire on the people who make 'em. Alastor gets a kick out of people wrapping a noose around their own neck!"

When Charlie didn't answer, Vaggie's expression hardened, she approached her. "Is this even about helping him?"

Charlie flinched and turned around. "What do you mean?"

"You heard me. Sure, this could help you understand what his deal is, but is it worth the risk? Seems to me like you just to know something. Seems like you're just _impatient_. Seems to me like you've got _something else_ on your mind and you're taking dangerous shortcuts to get there!"

Charlie said nothing, her expression set and stern. Husk's eyes darted back and forth between them, the air crackled with intensity. The arcane chanting within the room ceased and the door creaked open. Saying nothing, Charlie turned away from them and set off towards the door.

"Charlie, wait." Vaggie followed after Charlie, when she didn't answer, Vaggie reached out and grabbed her arm. "Charlie!"

Charlie stood in the doorway, not turning back to look at her. "I need to know. If he's connected to the Duke's investigation, if we're in danger. I need to know."

The door swung shut before Vaggie could respond.

She stood in the hallway, silent.

Charlie locked the door and turned around to see a grinning Alastor standing next to an entranced Moonchild, a look of mocking concern on his face. "Trouble with the worker drones?"

"They're just concerned," she said, walking up to Moonchild, examining his placid face. "They don't trust you."

"Do _you?_ "

"No, but I know you can help. And I don't think you would have told us about Duke Sallos if it wasn't a threat to you, so helping me is helping you. Self-interest can be just as good as altruism if only the results matter."

Alastor's eyes flashed, his smile now much less mocking. "Why, Miss Magne, that sounded downright _Luciferian_."

"This… thing you did to him–"

"I used my powers to induce an altered state in his soul. It's similar to hypnotism on earth, but without all that meat getting in the way." Alastor clenched his fist, causing a pinkish glow to emanate from Moonchild. "I call it vegan hypnosis! Ha ha ha!"

"You _would_ …" Charlie waved her hand in font of Moonchild's placid face. "Can he hear us?"

"Yes, I can hear you," said Moonchild, his voice flat and calm, free of the friendliness or warmth, the low-key nervousness; Charlie was struck my just how much weight the fish-demon carried in his voice all the time.

"How do you feel, Moonchild?"

"I feel…" he paused, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Calm. Alastor made it so I can't feel any other way. It's wonderful. I wish I could always feel like this."

"Good, Moonchild." Charlie sat down next to him and gave his hand a squeeze. "I want to help you. Do you believe me?"

"I believe you," said Moonchild, smiling. "And I believe you can, too."

"Thank you, Moonie."

"But that's not why we're doing this, is it?" Moonchild said, a twinge of something like resignation in his voice. "Not just that, anyway."

Charlie frowned and averted her gaze. "No… Moonchild, you're Prince Stolas' secretary, he trusts you. Does he tell you anything? Do you know anything about what's happening right now?"

"He doesn't tell me anything. But yes." Moonchild nodded. "I try to ignore all the things I see and hear in his office. I'm very good at ignoring uncomfortable things. But I never forget. The Prince is in some very bad trouble. My Lord was involved with a heist. Something was stolen from earth, something dangerous, using his grimoire. According to Octavia, the Prince's daughter, the petition for an official investigation was rejected, and the Prince and his family are likely to face some manner of unofficial reprisal from the others. They are all in terrible danger."

"Are you in any danger, Moonchild?" Charlie said, leaning in. "Do you need protection?"

Moonchild shook his head before shrugging. "The Prince values me, but his lovers and family members are more tempting targets." Moonchild turned to Charlie, an uncharacteristically sardonic smile on his face. "Don't worry. The Hotel is… _probably_ safe."

"That wasn't…" Charlie began to say before shaking her head. "Alright. That's very good. Thank you, Moonchild."

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Alastor broke in. "You've got the ear of the little owlet? Any embarrassing family secrets?"

"Alastor!"

"She calls Duke Sallos 'Uncle Sally', and he enjoys Rom-Coms and romance novels."

"Oh, that's _**fantastic**_."

"Right, okay," Charlie said, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, for the other reason we're here. Moonchild, do you know what happened yesterday? With the embroidery? Something frightened you very badly. Can you tell me what happened?"

Moonchild shook his head. "I don't know what happened. It was like I was dreaming. One second I was embroidering, the next I was sewing…"

"What was the dream of, Moonchild?" Charlie said, leaning in. "You were sewing?"

"It was… my first memory," said Moonchild, his brow furrowing. "Yes. The first thing I ever remember doing."

"Your earliest memory?" Charlie said, looking at Alastor, smiling. "What is it?"

Moonchild turned to her, his voice calm and even. "I was sewing my mother's mouth shut with a fishing hook. I then buried her alive under the foundation of that house."

Charlie's eyes went wide, she drew back from the placid-faced demon, behind her Alastor cocked an eyebrow and leaned in, fascinated.

"Th-that's your first memory?" Charlie said, aghast.

He nodded. "I don't like that memory very much. It frightens me. So I put it in the dark place and don't think about it, like everything else. I'm very good at ignoring uncomfortable things."

' _The dark place. He's been suppressing that all this time… what else has he done?_ '

"Why did you do that, Moonchild?"

"It was my punishment, you see, for stopping him. He would have killed her, he wanted to kill her, but I stopped him. So he forced me to do it. It broke me, I couldn't resist him anymore. After that, he was in control."

"That was a lot to take in…" Charlie leaned back, focusing her thoughts. "Who… who is 'he'?"

"The Boss. The Boss of Passione." Moonchild reached up and tapped his head. "We shared a body in life. He'd let me out when he needed to travel, but I was asleep most of the time. I never let myself realize this. I let him take over because resisting him would mean knowing what I'd done. I'm very good at ignoring uncomfortable things."

"A split personality…" she whispered, amazed. "Were you always like this? Two minds in one body?"

Moonchild shook his head. "No. We were already a young man when we became us. We were one person before, I presume."

Charlie smiled, now they were getting somewhere! "Can you remember anything from those years, Moonie? Any memories of your childhood?"

Moonchild shook his head again, sighing deeply. "No. He has all those memories. He's obsessed with them."

"Miss Magne…" Alastor said, leaning over her shoulder. "Are you sure you want to proceed?"

Charlie blinked in surprise, for a moment she could have sworn she heard of a twinge of concern in Alastor's voice, of trepidation, of… _fear_?

"Excuse me?"

"This one's… odd," said Alastor, once again summoning that pinkish aura. "I'd know if someone else was in there."

"You think he's lying?"

"Impossible." Alastor turned to her. "That's why it's odd."

"I have to know," Charlie muttered, looking up at Alastor. "This 'Boss', we draw him up, he'd be in the same state as Moonchild? Sedated?"

Alastor paused, examining his talons. "In theory…"

"And you'd be able to pull Moonie out of it like normal?" She pressed. "In theory?"

"Count to three and–" Alastor snapped his fingers. "That's the trigger."

Charlie inhale slowly and exhaled, centering herself. She turned back to Moonchild, her voice gentle. "Moonie? Is Boss in there with you?"

"No, he's someplace else," Moonchild said. "Where he was, there's this void, a shadow."

"The dark place."

Moonchild nodded. "He's not in there, though. But if I go there, I can pull him out of… wherever he is. I've almost done a few times by myself, actually. Whenever I try to be strong, or get angry, he's always near, but far away, also."

Charlie inched closer. "Can you do that, Moonie? Can you get him to come out? I want to speak with him."

"No." Moonchild turned to look at her, his expression flat and foreboding. "No, you _really_ don't."

Charlie reached out and took his hand. "Please, Moonie? I can't help you unless I know what happened to you, and if Boss knows, I'd like to talk to him about it. That way, I can help both of you, okay?"

"He doesn't want your help," Moonchild said, even sedated she could tell just how terrified he was of this 'Boss'. "He wants to get out. And if I let him out, he'll kill you both. I don't want him to kill you, Charlie."

"Well, thanks a bunch, kid," Alastor muttered.

"Don't worry, Moonie, he can't hurt you," Charlie said, patting his hand comfortingly. "If I can learn what he knows, maybe I can help the two of you. Help me help you both. Please?"

Moonchild sighed and nodded. "Okay… okay, I'll try…"

Moonchild went quiet, closing his eyes. His brow furrowed, hands clenching into fists. His aura changed, deepened, becoming a hard, cruel red lined with silver-white. The aura thrashed and undulated like waveform before succumbing to Alastor's sedation.

Moonchild inhaled deeply, his chest and shoulders expanded with the sound of creaking bones, his muscles expanding grotesquely as this new presence slipped into him. The little fish demon expanded upwards and outwards, his massive frame splitting his cloths at the seams with low popping snaps that morphed with the fleshy, sinewy sounds his growing body. His red skin went from slick and smooth to covered in glinting, armored scales. The hulking figure leaned forward limply, Moonchild's neat, coifed bangs shifting and splitting into a long mane of tentacles that spilled over his shoulders and face, obscuring them partially. He exhaled a cloud of sour, sea-stinking steam.

[Boss opened his eyes, cold, hateful green shone out from his shadowed face.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsKLvtTOeYo)

Charlie flinched back at the sheer weight of his aura, the air soured and curdled as raw malice rolled off the demon before them in waves. Moonchild's pretty, placid face had become set and hard, it hadn't changed and was nonetheless completely alien for the sheer wrath now corrupting his features.

"Am I speaking to Boss?"

A voice came, nothing like the high-toned, gently-accented lilt of his counterpart; it was deep, rumbling, smooth yet somehow raspy. "Where… where am I?"

"It's okay," Charlie said, feeling a cold chill claw its way up her spine; his aura alone was like a cold breeze. "You're safe."

"Safe," Boss said, looking around the the room. "Where am I?"

"You're in the Happy Hotel, you're a patient here. How do you feel?"

Boss inhaled and exhaled again, a smile pulling at the sides of his mouth. "I feel… calm. It's been so long since I could think like a man, feel something other than panic. Ah? The Happy Hotel? And I'm in Hell? _This? **Hell?!**_ [Hmmheh heh ha HA HA HA HA!"](https://youtu.be/Cwp9JZjdfo0?t=250)

Charlie swallowed and pulled away: he was insane.

He leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Strange. I should be slaughtering you both right now. Whatever you've done to me, it's moderating that, too. Interesting."

Charlie became aware that she'd been holding her breath the entire time and exhaled loudly.

Boss locked her with a piercing, green gaze. "You. You've delivered me from the Requiem, and for that I shall offer a boon. What do you want?"

"I-I–" Charlie cleared her throat and leaned forward. "I want to ask you some questions."

His eyes narrowed. "Questions."

"That's right. Moonchild told us that you have the memories of your childhood, from when you were one person. I would like to ask you about your past."

"Moonchild? Ah. Doppio, you…" He snarled, baring his serrated shark-teeth. "I will tell you _nothing_ , wench!"

"Oh, okay, then." Charlie leaned back in her chair and gestured to Alastor. "Send him back."

Alastor, grinning, cocked his head and raised his hand, fingers ready to snap. "But of course…"

" _ **Wait!**_ " Boss roared, raising his hands and starting forward before relenting. "Stop. I'll… I'll answer your questions."

"Glad to hear it," said Charlie leaning forward, producing a notepad. "Can you tell me how you became… how you are?"

"Yes…" Boss growled. "Our fate was sealed the moment he was born."

"He? The person you were?"

Boss nodded. "He was born in the summer of 1965, in a woman's-only prison on a remote island. His mother, a petty criminal, was serving a ten-year sentence for assault and robbery. Two years into her sentence, she gave birth. The father had been dead two years, and she'd given no outward sign of being with child until that very night. The next day, the boy was born with his eyes open, and nary a sound from his lips."

"Off to a good start, I see," said Alastor.

"Shh!" Charlie hissed over her shoulder, turning back to the demon. "And then what happened?"

"The child was sent to his mother's hometown in Sardinia, where he was taken in by a priest." Boss said the last word with venom. "A kindly, weak old man. As time went on, it became clear he could not care for the child and fulfill his obligations to the parish, so, when the child was five, he hired a nanny. He failed to do a background check. Turns out, she was the former-sergeant of his mother's wing at the prison, she had been blamed for the unexplained pregnancy and let go. She knew of the unnatural circumstances of his birth. Knew of his past. She hated the boy."

"Oh, no…" Charlie whispered. "What happened next?"

"She was convinced the child was evil. A devil sent from Hell. She visited every imaginable form of torment upon the boy. Starvation, beatings, abuses both psychological and sexual. She would never so much as use his name, all she would ever call him… was _Diavolo_."

Charlie felt the hairs on her arm stand on end as an electric chill raced through her, she knew now that this demon had a name, and it wasn't 'Boss'.

Diavolo continued. "The priest found out eventually, and the nanny was convicted of child abuse and sent to prison. I understand she committed suicide before her sentence could be dispensed. I should like to find her down here and catch up… Anyway, the damage was done. The boy's psyche was a shambles."

"Is that when you and Moonchild were created?"

"No. The boy managed to maintain a fragile sense of self, but during the torture he had taken all his anger and rage, all his fear and cruelty, and fashioned it into a sort of callus over what was left of his soul, a hard shell around the soft amorphous remains of his humanity. The boy would become known around town as a timid and friendly, if dimwitted, young man. Little did they know of the daily torment he suffered, the terror that someone might find out about his birth, find out about his past, and recommence the torture. A profound loathing for his own identity set in, fomenting in the back of his mind like a cancer, growing slowly with each passing day. He could not bear to divulge his past, not even with the woman he loved, telling her only sweet falsehoods and half-truths.

"His life ended the day _she_ returned. One day, while the priest was out organizing a festival, the young man heard a knock at the door. When he opened it, he saw her. He'd never seen the woman before, but her eyes, her face, were unmistakable, for he'd seen them in the mirror. She was his mother. She had gotten out of prison early, her sentence reduced for good behavior and testifying against some old associates. She had returned to her life as a petty criminal and had racked up some rather serious debt, and was now reaching out to her adult son whom she'd never met before, begging for money."

"Charming woman," Alastor muttered.

"Shhh! And then?"

Diavolo smiled, it was a ghastly, hateful smile. "Something in the young man snapped, his fragile persona shattered for good. Standing before him was not his mother, but his damned, wretched past incarnate. The source of his suffering, his misbegotten existence. Had she come to him when she got out, he never would have suffered so; had she never borne him, he never would have known this miserable life. His past was once again crawling from the gutters of time to fill his life with shame and hardship. That hard, cruel part of himself he had crafted coalesced within him, separating, and I opened my eyes for the first time."

"W-what did you do?"

"I throttled her into unconsciousness, into near brain-death. I would have killed her, but the rest of his psyche, the pitifully _human_ parts resisted, themselves becoming an identity with which you are already familiar. Once I punished him and he became less willful, I used Doppio… 'Moonchild', as a disguise, for he was similar enough to the young man as to not raise suspicion. Before long, though, the priest found his mother and I knew then what must be done. I killed all who knew even the slightest thing about my past, and burned the town to the ground. The rest he already told you, at the support meeting."

"Why did you make him do that?" Charlie said, outraged. "Do that to his own mother?"

"I love him, but he's weak," Diavolo hissed. "Everything I've ever done has been to protect us, to protect him! He lives at the behest of others, relying on them for protection! Down here, he lives like a beaten dog, scared of his own shadow, pathetically eager to please! Only I can protect him, and if that means punishing him from time to time, so be it!"

"You… wait, the support circle?" Charlie's eyes went wide. "How… How do you know all that?"

Diavolo smiled, tapping his temple. "He's never been very good at resisting me. Even now, he bends to my will, and with him so, too, bends your spell. He wants me to take over, to finally keep him safe! You can't help him, Princess, only I can! And now that I've told you everything, I will destroy our past, _once and for all!_ "

Charlie leapt backwards just in time to avoid a massive, clawed hand as it sliced through the air, smashing a huge crater into the solid concrete floor. "Alastor!"

"You got it!" He raised his hand and prepared to snap his fingers. "One…"

" _ **No!**_ " Diavolo bellowed, with the sedation removed his voice became rough and frantic, almost bestial in its desperation. " ** _No, I won't go back!_** "

In the span of a blink he was on his feet and half-way across the room. Charlie had no time to brace when a massive, studded fist slammed into her ribs with a grotesque crunch. The force of the impact vaporized a section of her overcoat and undershirt, the air around his fist and arm flashing into flame from the awesome speed of the strike. Charlie's eyes went wide as her breath exploded from her mouth in a fine spray of blood. She was sent hurtling bodily through the air, smashing a hole through the wall.

"…Two…"

The towering figure streaked forward, hands outstretched, his eyes glowing toxic-green pits of feral rage. His snarling mouth a nightmare of serrated shark's teeth, spitting garbled, wordless vitriol as the last vestiges of sanity in the demon was washed away by a tide of animalistic panic. Alastor summoned his tendrils from the shadows, they reared up like vipers and prepared to–

–In a tangled clump, having converged at once on an empty space.

Alastor blinked in confusion. ' _Wait–_ '

The Radio Demon lurched as a fist erupted from his chest, clutched in its steely talons was a mass of black, pulsating meat: his heart. Vile ichor erupted from his grinning, toothy mouth in a voluminous torrent, splattering on the floor like spilled oil. Alastor coughed and sputtered, slowly, shakily looking over his shoulder and into the eyes of the now-mindless, feral Diavolo. His grin, stained with his unctuous black blood, widened as he shot the beast a wry wink.

"...Three~"

He snapped his finger and, with one last hair-raising bellow, the demon staggered back, his mighty frame shrinking, retracting, his glowing green eyes rolled back in their sockets. A second later and Moonchild was standing there, the tatters of his clothes hanging off his svelte body, staring at his bloody hands with a dazed look on his face. He turned to Alastor, his wide, innocent eyes rolling up into their sockets before he toppled over backwards, unconscious.

Alastor stood over the helpless demon, his eyes glowing as the light around him shriveled and died, a mass of horrid shapes coalescing behind him. The tentacles stiffened into spikes and prepared to shred the supine form, streaking forward only to be restricted by a glowing flash of green Pact energy. Alastor could not attack.

' _They're my patients…_ ' He recalled. ' _No matter what we find out, you can't harm any of them! Deal?_ '

"A deal backfired…" Alastor growled. "…On _me_?"

Alastor paused before throwing his head back and laughing, clapping his hands. "Oh ho ho ho! That's some good irony! Ah ha ha ha!"

A groan drew his attention to the hole in the wall. "Ugh…"

Charlie stepped through the hole, cherry-red blood dripping down her chin, made all the more stark by her alabaster skin. She clutched her side, the cloth ringing the hole in her jacket and shirt charred, her pale skin mottled and bruised. Charlie took a deep breath and coughed, fresh blood spraying out between her fingers.

"Learn all you wanted to learn, Miss Magne?"

"Ugh…" She sat down, slumping against the shattered wall, wiping her hand on her pants. " And then some."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just a few broken ribs," she said, wincing. "Phew! I haven't taken a hit like that since finishing school! Oof… how're you?"

He gestured at the gushing hole in his torso. "In case you thought I was heartless before!"

"OH MY GOD, ALASTOR!"

Charlie unsteadily got to her feet as Alastor laughed. "It's quite alright! Never had much use for the ol' chump-pump. Now, how about you and I dissolve our little agreement, hmm?"

Charlie stopped, squinting at Alastor. "…Why?"

"So I can make this humdinger of a mess." He gestured at the unconscious Moonchild. "Go away."

"No!" Charlie leapt between Alastor and her patient. "You're not killing him!"

"Not right now, no," said Alastor, extending his hand. "But that can change right quick! Trust me, kid, you don't want none of what this fish-monger's peddling."

"He's my patient!"

"He's also an unstable psychopath who can hurt even you." Alastor pointed at the pulverized scorch-mark on her ribs. "Imagine what he could do to everyone else."

"Oh, like you care!"

"I don't!" Alastor turned away from her, adjusting his monocle. "Under normal circumstances, it'd be a hoot to watch you get your friends torn to pieces… ah, this is one of those things, isn't it? One of those 'moral conundrums'?"

Charlie stood up straight, crossing her arms. "You're not killing him!"

"If you say so, Princess." Alastor shook his head and chuckled, shrugging. "In any case, we've accomplished our goals for the day, don't you think?"

Charlie sighed and nodded, looking over at Moonchild. "Yeah…"

"Very well! A pleasure working with you, Miss Magne. Now, I have to go see a certain tailor about a new suit. Until next time!"

Alastor snapped his fingers and vanished in a pulse of static. Charlie coughed lightly and slouched forward, exhausted. She looked over at the unconscious Moonchild, her expression tired.

"I'm sorry, Moonie," she sighed, shaking her head. "I'm so, so sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie's time at finishing school was bumpy, to say the least.
> 
> Oh, and Worst Boy has finally made the scene! Neat, huh?


	7. Complex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of you thoughtful readers went and made a TVTropes page for this one, too! Thank you so much!
> 
> Be sure to check it out and contribute (and kiss your free time goodbye) here
> 
> https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/OnlyTheResults

Chapter 7: Complex

Stolas sat behind his desk, his head in his hands.

How had things gone so wrong?

' _Probably when you doomed all creation to whatever scheme that appropriately-named preacher has cooked up?_ ' He thought to himself. ' _Probably that, yeah._ '

A commotion sounded outside his office, an aura made its odious presence known, even in the adjacent room, like a foul smell.

The bell on his desk rang as it was flogged. His secretary had taken an uncharacteristic day off. In fact, Stolas could not recount a single day off the loyal little demon had taken in his two decades of service, adding to the increasing feeling of unease this morning had decided to bombard him with. Stolas rose to his feet and exited the office, dreading the encounter.

' _If my precious Moonie were here, he'd have warned me ahead of time…_ ' He thought to himself, sulking.

Standing in his reception room was a tall, garishly dressed moth-demon, his long, thin body concealed in a veritable pillar of fur-trimmed red velour. His red eyes narrowed behind his absurd heart-shaped sunglasses, his stained grin widened into a leer, his gold tooth glinting in the lights.

"Valentino," Stolas said, smiling like he'd just found a spider in his coffee. "How awful to see you again. Truly, my day has reached its nadir and it's not even nine."

"Never one to mince words, were ya, Hoot?" Valantino said, his voice that same, infuriatingly even croon: this vulgarian no doubt fancied he had some sort of advantage over the Prince. "Funny. Considering how mincing you can be."

"What can I say, you've caught me at a time in my life where my patience for you is nonexistent." Stolas moved to turn away and head back into his office. "Which henceforth is between now and the End of Days. Now, if you'll excuse me, talking to you has left a bad taste in my mouth. Kindly show yourself out, the garbage chute is the third on the left."

Valentino laughed, a slick, unpleasant sound, not unlike the rolling chortle of bubbling oil. "Y'know, I just thought I'd let ya know, there's some right unpleasant rumors circulatin' about you. Do you a solid, friendly-like. 'Course, if you'd rather just insult me when alls I'm doin' is tryin' to help, you know, head a rumor off at the pass before it becomes major news…"

Stolas sighed and turned around, glaring at the moth demon. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Aight, so, all this piss in the wind I hear about you fuckin' some imp is just that?" Valentino said, tapping away at his phone.

Stolas' hellphone buzzed and he glanced at it. Valentino has sent him dozens of candid pictures of him and his paramour in the throes of passion. Stolas could admit that, while obviously taken at a discreet distance, the photos were centered and well-composed; professional work. He could just imagine how eye-catching they would be plastered across the front page of some rag, as a thumbnail on a clickbait article, flashing on billboards.

"I mean, deepfakes and such, you never can be too certain nowadays."

"What do you want?"

Valentino slithered over to him, his eyes glowing. "Oh, I'm just grinnin' ear to ear to hear you say that, Stolas. That you just lead with a reward like that, on account of your gratitude and all. Well, consider this gratis, my feathered friend."

"Oh, do cut the shit and tell me what you want."

"Aight. Now, tellin' you what was up was the freebie. However, if'n you want my help keepin' a cap on this slander, well…" He knit his hands together with one pair and pointed to the ceiling with another. "Y'know, the rumor has you're lettin' the imp use your fancy book to do biz on Earth. Now, I ain't one to subscribe to rumors, but it got me thinkin'. If my good pal Stolas would lend that book out for dick, imagine what he'd do for a good friend who's got his best interests at heart?"

Stolas glared at the moth demon, his eyes glowing with hate.

"Think about it, good buddy," Valentino said, casting an arm over Stolas' shoulders. "I won't be goin' up to kill people or steal _objects of import_. Nah, my man, I'm just lookin' to expand my catalog, y'see? Think about it. How much do you think folk down here'd pay for a true-blue human virgin? Meat and all. Alls I need from you is that book a'yours and I'll cut you in, 20%. Howzat strike ya, Big Hoot?"

Stolas said nothing, turning away from the grinning pimp, slapping his arm off his shoulder.

Valentino chuckled and followed after. "I hear she's right pissed. Your old lady. I mean, even as a rumor, that's gotta be a fuckin' hit to the ol' marriage. And that's just between y'all. Imagine if the story went a'trendin'? All of Hell would believe that her husband done cucked her with an imp, the lowest of the low. How… humiliating."

Stolas stopped for a moment, his shoulders tensing, before continuing on his way to his office.

"Hey, that's alright. Decorum, yeah? You can't just lend out that book, even to your good pal. But, say, maybe you'd wanna accommodate me in some other way, yeah?" He slimed. "'Cause, y'know, your daughter… woof! She got her some fine-ass bone-structure. Good genes. Pretty her up some, she could sell ice-makers to eskimos~"

Stolas spun around, his aura flaring like the corona of a star, his reality-bending demonic might bubbling over with his temper. Valentino grinned and watched the royal seethe, his vast power utterly useless. He knew Stolas knew that if anything happened to him, the pictures and story would be everywhere within the day. Part of him found it viscerally satisfying to pecker-slap the stuck-up bird, almost enough to call it a day, let that be his payment.

Almost.

He wanted those virgins.

A voice carried over his shoulder, low, deep, and handsomely accented. "I believe the correct term is 'Inuit'."

Valentino rolled his eyes. "Eskimos/Inuit/like I give a shi–"

Val's eyes snapped open, his grin vanishing as he felt a chill race up his spin, the sheer weight of the demonic aura at his back was oppressive, the atmosphere was thick with ozone as the air ionized. He slowly turned around, sweat beading on his forehead.

Standing in the corner of the reception room, taking up much of it with his bulk, was Grand Duke Sallos, his glare withering but expression calm. The only indication of his hidden fury was the greasy, electric sensation saturating the air.

"Uh," Valentino grunted, swallowing despite his mouth being dry as an old nun's cooze. "I-I was just–"

"Shutting up."

Val's mouth shut with an audible 'clop'.

The Grand Duke started forward. "Kneel."

Val did, dropping to his knees.

"Lower."

Val set his hands to the floor, bowing his head.

"Lower." The Duke was very close now.

Val pressed his forehead to the carpet, sweat pouring down his face in rivulets.

His huge feet strode up, stopping astride the media mogul's head. " _Lower~_ "

Valentino lay on the floor, trying very hard to flatten himself right into the rug, to disappear. Duke Sallos scoffed with contempt and continued forward, trodding on the prone demon as he did, his footfalls underscored with crunching and popping.

"Stolas," said Sallos, eyeing up the furious owl demon. "We need to talk."

"Yes," Stolas said, quietly. "Yes, we do."

The two royals made their way into his office. As the door swung shut, Sallos glanced over his shoulder. "Stay."

"Uh."

The door slammed shut.

"…Yeah…"

* * *

Stolas walked over to his desk, summoning a cigar with a wave of his hand. "Cigar?"

"Please."

Stolas doubled the cigar and sent one over to his cousin. They lit the fine, hand-wrapped cigars and puffed idly for a moment, enjoying the rich, aromatic smoke. Stolas broke the silence with a chuckle.

"I could have taken care of that myself, you know."

"I know." Sallos smiled. "I just wanted to spare your office an _extremely tacky_ statue."

Stolas threw his head back and laughed. "Oh! It's good to see you, Sally."

"And you, La-La." Sallos said, puffing on the cigar. "I just wish I could be here on happier business."

"Never one to beat around the bush, were you, Sally?" Stolas sighed, tapping ash into a nearby tray.

Sallos sat down and crossed his legs, shrugging. "I could ask after the family life, the job, and all that first, if you like."

"No, no," said Stolas, taking a seat behind his desk. "It all comes to bear. Well? Am I going before the council?"

Sallos took a heavy drag on the cigar, producing a great volume of smoke, through which his fiery eyes and brows could be seen. "No. The Inner Circle has decreed that it would set a poor precedent to punish you for being adjacent to a crime, regardless of severity."

"And Trouble?'

"He paid for a service and got it."

"…And the imp?"

"He provided a service and was paid." Sallos leaned back in the chair, the ebony craftsmanship groaning under his massive frame. "No official action will be taken against any of them, as per Lucifer's laws regarding reprisals and proxies."

"No 'official' action!" Stolas spat. "Oh, that's rich. They all get to cover their asses for future schemes while my family and I are thrown to the wolves!"

"Surprised?"

"No," said Stolas, turning away from him. "…Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well?!" Stolas shot to his feet and spun around, his eyes blazing. "Aren't you going to tell me it's all my fault? Tell me I'm a disgrace? A pathetic, _disgusting embarrassment?!_ Go ahead! Tell me how _disappointed_ you are, Sally!"

Sallos uncrossed his legs and shook his head, tapping the ash into a nearby tray. "Not at all, La-La. The heart wants what it wants. To have the courage, to be bold enough to pursue love despite it all–"

"Oh, spare me your romantic garbage!" Stolas snapped, slamming his hands on the desk. "You've been reading your books again!"

"Am I wrong?"

Stolas scoffed and turned his back to him, crossing arms. "Oh, please! I bed an imp and you think me some martyr for love! Do grow up, Sally. I was fooling around to humiliate that harridan, to get back at her for making my life and the life of my daughter miserable! And what better way?! It was a tawdry fling! Nothing more!"

Sallos took one last pull on his cigar and snuffed the butt in the ash tray. "One does not lend out a grimoire for a tawdry fling. I don't care what you tell yourself, La-La, but don't think you can pull one over on me."

"You're right… I'm sorry…" Stolas deflated and shook his head, smoothing back his ruffled feathers. "I do love her, you know. It eats at me thinking how I hurt her, how… how I hurt them both. It's just that…"

"You were never _in_ love with her." Sallos got to his feet and made his way over. "Not like with him."

Stolas laughed bitterly, but his expression softened, became wistful. "There were times when he would rest his head on my chest, we'd bask in the afterglow and just… talk. Talk until the sun came up. He'd tell me about his aspirations, his goals, his _dreams_. Remember those? Dreams? Wants? Desires? _We_ had those once upon a time!"

"That we did." Sallos nodded, gesturing to the room around them. "Ambitions and dreams are the foundations of Hell itself."

"It was intoxicating! To see genuine drive and verve and lust for, for, I don't know, the need to-to–Oh, I just don't have the words!" Stolas buried his face in his hands.

"No one ever accused you of eloquence, La-La." Sallos set a massive hand on his shoulder. "But I understand."

"It was the only way," Stolas said, his voice low. "I-I thought if I lent him the grimoire, helped him fulfill his dreams, that h-he'd stay with me… that he'd love me…"

Sallos sighed, closing his eyes as he pulled his hand away. "Oh, La-La. I'm so sorry it had to come to this."

"Sally?"

Sallos made for the door. "The decree has been written and is pending delivery. I was sent a draft."

Stolas' eyes snapped open, his hands clenching into fists; when he spoke, his voice was calm, placid, and deadly cold. "What did it say?"

"A 'loved one'." Sallos turned around to face him. "I–"

Stolas's eyes flared with medusa-energy, the air split with a terrible shriek. Sallos froze in place as rock flashed over his skin. The fresh statue stood in place for a moment before cracks spidered across its surface, red, hellish energy surging out from within. The statue exploded outwards, exposing a formless mass of demonic power bellowing with rage. Sheer force of will focused this power as flesh and blood was willed from the aether. Sallos levitated out of the pillar of energy, his naked body wreathed in hellfire, scorching the carpet and nearby chair. The sheer might of his aura thrummed, exploding outwards with hurricane force. Stolas was sent tumbling backwards, his furniture cast about the room.

" _ **D̞̱͕̞͙̠ị̞d̜̩̟̝͓̯̝͢ ̲̜̮̦̟͈͓y̘͟o̱̳u̠̫̹̰͍ ̝̼̮̜̠̘̭͜j̴̱͇͈u̗ͅst̡ p͍̕e̞͙̟͓͠t̥̖̺͖͓̦̕r̨̻̱̭̤̘͙i̟͙̰f̛̱̥̞͉͓y̫̹̰ ̻m̠̖̼̗e̛̹̯?̥̤̤!̻̻̩͓̼**_ " Sallos bellowed, his voice a terrible, furious torture of sound, his eyes two supernovae of rage. " ** _H̸̪͖̳̟̤̖o̤̺͓̼͉͎̖w̴͔ ̗̪̳͈̼̤d̪̲̥͎̜ͅa͢re̦̯̗͙ ͇̗̗y̰̫͍o̙̼̮͘u̥̫͓͈̘͇!̖̯͇̙̦!̻̰̘̮̲̫_** "

Stolas was in the air and across the room in an instant, his own aura clashing with the Duke's, hopelessly outmatched but unwilling to back down. " _ **I̛̖͕͓͍̲͍ ̭w̵̮̲̠̙i̙͖̥̦̥̹̜͠l̺̻̤͇̺͉l͖͟ ͢ṋ̺̫̙̗o̷̩̳͈͓̣t̜͙̼͘ ̸̩͓̺̖l̼̣̬̯͍e̛͓̪͔͙̭t̸͓̻ ̨ý̭o̝̩͉͓͍͉u̧ ͅḫ͔̣̹͚̳͓u͚̻̯̪ͅr͖̕t͎̫͢ ̯͕̱̦ͅh̵͕e̞̻͈͖r̡̠̩̟̤̤̥͕!̼̝͜!̳̦̻̮́**_ "

Sallos willed back his terrible rage, wrestling it into submission as his feet set down on the floor. He breathed deeply through his nose, a new suit flashing into existence on his massive frame. "La-La… I'm going to pretend that didn't happen. I'm here as a courtesy, purely out of my love for you… and her. I would not dream to harm a feather on her head, nor would I allow anyone to harm her in my stead. Octavia is safe."

Stolas' eyes narrowed in confusion. "But the decree…?"

"The decree stands," Sallos growled making for the door.

Stolas gasped as the realization struck. "Sally, _you can't!_ "

Sallos opened the door, canting his head over his shoulder, not looking at Stolas. "You brought this on yourself, La-La."

* * *

Sallos closed the door behind him, telling himself he couldn't hear his cousin sobbing in his shambles of an office. He turned to see the odious creature he'd thankfully forgotten about, obediently lying on the floor.

"Rise."

It did.

He leaned his head over its shoulder, his voice low and authoritative. "You heard nothing."

It opened its mouth.

"Silence. You heard nothing, you'll say nothing, and you'll forget anything and everything you've ever known about my cousin or his family. Should it ever be made public, I will assume your guilt and punish you accordingly. Understood?"

It nodded.

"Good." He walked around it and made for the door, stopping and turning back, his fiery eyes pouring into its featureless red pits. "An order: I want you to use that wonderful, _hideous_ imagination of yours to devise the most outlandish torture you can. I want you to write it down. I want you to mail it to me. Because if you so much as think of my niece again, I should like to do something _worse_. I expect that letter by the end of the week."

It nodded.

"Get out."

It moved for the door, only for Sallos to gesture for it to stop. "Oh, one more thing."

His hand shot up in a flash, a dull meaty rip echoed in the room followed shortly by a high, reedy scream. The lesser demon clasped its hand over its mouth, foul green blood spurting out between its fingers. Sallos looked at the glittering, _reflective_ gold tooth clutched between his fingers, the root of it still stubbornly clinging to a bloody chunk.

"Captain Gallia is making a necklace. She appreciates your contribution," said Sallos, wiping the blood and tissue off on the demon's coat before tucking it into his breast pocket.

"Now, get out."

He pointed to the chute labeled 'garbage'. Slowly, reluctantly, the cowering insect scuttled towards the chute and, with a low, indignant sound, crawled in. The sound of it bouncing and crashing through the chute growing slowly more distant filled him with a meager satisfaction, but it was hollow. Stolas would not forgive him.

It was his duty, he would see it through, for the good of his family and Hell itself.

* * *

Charlie paced about in front of a whiteboard, her office empty. They'd all had questions, of course, but she'd deflected and disassembled and departed. She had questions herself, not then entirely sure of what she'd seen.

The door opened and in filed the staff, Vaggie, Husk, the Goats, and Niffty. They sat themselves down and waited. Vaggie and Husk in particular had distinct notes of 'I told you so' in their expressions, while Niffty and the Goats stared ahead blithely.

Charlie sighed and centered herself before turning around with a bright smile. "Hello everyone! I'm so glad you all could make to today's staff meeting!"

"What happened back there, Charlie!" Vaggie demanded, not even bothering with the pretense. "It looks like a bomb went off in that room!"

"What'd Al do to him?" Husk said, sounding almost outraged. "Moonchild's still out cold!"

"Okay, soooo…" Charlie tapped her index fingers together, clearing her throat nervously. "We have a problem."

Vaggie and Husk groaned and leaned back in their chairs, Niffty's hands shot to her mouth. "Oh no! It's the washing machines, isn't it? I thought they sounded a little funny the other day!"

"No, no the washing machines are fine," said Charlie, before pointing at Husk and Vaggie. "And you two! Shush! It turns out Moonchild's a little, uh…"

"Fuckin' nuts?" Husk grumbled.

Vaggie rubbed her temples. "Liable to get us all murdered by Duke Sallos?"

Husk jumped in his chair. " _What?!_ "

"Both!" Niffty chirruped.

"Baaaah!" Razzle and Dazzle said, in unison.

"Quiet!" Charlie barked, pointing to each of them. "Husk! No, Moonie isn't insane! He's mentally ill, _there's a difference!_ Vaggie, no one's gunning for the hotel! Niffty, also no. Raz, Daz, Benito Mussolini lives on the south side, _you've met him!_ "

"Well, what is it then?" Vaggie said, gesturing down the hall. "That room's a shambles! Raz and Daz will be busy for days!"

"Bah," grumbled Raz.

"Bah!" exclaimed Daz.

"Yeah!" Husk said. "You tellin' us that Moonie did that?"

"No!" Charlie said, before sighing and shrugging. "Yes? Kinda."

"What's going on, Charlie?"

Charlie took a deep breathe before turning to the whiteboard, a sharpie in her hand. "Okay, it's a little complicated so I'll start from the top. Back in 1965…"

When Charlie was done, the whiteboard was a mass of scribbles and a crude rendition of both Moonie, who was smiling and circled with emphasis and no shortage of hearts, and his Lesser Half, who was a growling farce surrounded by frowny faces.

"…And so, from there on out, Diavolo was in control, and now Moonie's in Hell because he technically shares a soul with him," Charlie finished, adding the last flourish to a heart around Moonie. "So! Any questions?"

"Yeah, I got one," Husk said, raising his hand. "What the fuck is he still doin' here?!"

"Thank you!" Vaggie threw up her hands.

"Oh, for…" Charlie muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This again?"

"Yes, 'this again'!" Husk growled. "We can't keep doin' this, Chuck! The kid's a timebomb! He attacked you, and _hurt ya_ , which, uh, I didn't even think was possible, and then he yanked out Alastor's fuckin' _heart?!_ Yeah, No, he's gotta go!"

"He didn't hurt me that bad," Charlie grumbled, her arms folded as she pouted.

"He put a you-sized hole in the wall!" Husk said, standing up. "And that's not the worst part! He got the drop on _Alastor!_ Chuck, _no-one_ gets the drop on the Radio Demon! Kid's a stand-user, well that means so is Mr. Donut-Maker! If he can bend Chuckles over a barrel in a fight, then he must got some right busted powers, and that means we're all doggy-paddlin' up shit creek the next time the kid stubs his toe!"

Charlie rolled her eyes and shook her head. "It doesn't work like that, Husk! He's not the Hulk, he doesn't change when he gets angry or scared or anything. It's Moonie who has to bring him out, and if Moonie was the kind of person to do that, would he really hide in garbage every day? Would he be a meek little secretary? Moonchild's a good person, a gentle soul, and we're not giving up on him! He's sick and he needs our help if he's going to get better."

Husk opened his mouth to retort when Vaggie set a hand on his forearm, a resigned look on her face. "Don't bother. There's no way we're changing her mind on this."

"Thank you, Vaggie," said Charlie, her brow furrowing. "I think. Anyway, we're helping Moonchild, he needs us now more than ever. Any questions? Yes, Niffty?"

"This Other Guy, is he handsome?"

Charlie chuckled and shook her head. "He looks like Moonie, but bigger and filled with pure hatred."

Niffty wrung her little hands together. "Ooh, that's _big yes!_ "

Vaggie raised her hand. "Yeah. Okay, how do we know if we're talking to Moonie or the Other Guy?"

Charlie chuckled and rubbed her sore ribs. "Oh, you'll know. Diavolo isn't subtle."

"Are we really callin' the dipshit 'Diavolo'?" Husk scoffed. "That just means 'devil' in Italian! How many people on earth were called 'Hugh Mann'?"

"He's earned the name."

Vaggie sighed. "Okay… but we know for sure Moonie won't, like, suddenly rip and tear our guts, right?"

"Would he really make such a terrible mess?" Niffty exclaimed before smiling. "That's _hot._ "

"No, Vaggie, he won't. This isn't your average case of DID. Here, I'll have the expert explain." Charlie clapped her hands. "Alastor~! Staff meeting~!"

Alastor appeared in a flash of static, his back to them. The Radio Demon turned around, his smile jaunty but his eyes sang with murder. "How… how did you do that?"

"You know that deal we made, to make you part of the team?" Charlie said, holding up the Happy Hotel's staff contract. "That technically makes you a specialist, but it also un-technically means _I'm your boss._ It's all right here."

Alastor snatched the piece of paper and read it, green Pact energy coursing around him as he tested the boundaries of the deal. "…Clever little strumpet…"

Husk leaned forward and cackled aloud, an unabashedly happy grin on his face as he did. "How ya like it now, ya grinnin' shitheel?! Ha ha ha ha haaa! She done dished you out, ya gurnin' fuck! This is the best day of my miserable existence!"

Charlie smirked and steepled her fingers together. "Anyway, Al, if you could go ahead and fill everyone in on the whole Moonchild/Diavolo thing, that would be greeeeaaat~"

Alastor glared at her, additional flares of Pact energy arced around him, restraining him. "Right. Okay, simpletons, what we have here is a bog-standard case of 'stand-shenanigans'! See, when I put Moonchild under, I extruded his soul from his body where I could induce a state of suggestibility. Key word here is 'soul', singular. Now, for a humdrum case of split-personality–"

Charlie broke in. "Uh, Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID."

"Who did what?' Alastor chuckled, his hand plopping over Charlie's face before shoving her aside. "Anyway, I would have seen the soul fragmented in this state. I did not. Meaning…? Come now, come now! Audience participation is key!"

Vaggie huffed and rolled her eye as Husk clapped a hand to his face.

"Uh…" Niffty said, tapping her chin. "Oh! It wasn't there!"

"That's right! Good girl, Niffty!" Alastor pat her on the head before returning to the whiteboard, wiping it clean, his ghoulish shadow drawing on the board as he spoke. "The soul fragment, or 'Diavolo', isn't in Hell. However, the nature of souls has it that one soul is immutable and singular; a soul can be stomped, smashed, fractured, and bent, but no-one, not even Lucifer Himself can rend a soul asunder. This means that there's still a bit of connective tissue between the two of them, between Moonchild and our frisky friend with the killer right hook. The nearest I can guess is that Diavolo is somewhere in Limbo, in a pocket-dimension of sorts that has 'Stand-User' written all over it. The nature of Limbo means that the Mad Lad cannot force his way in, but must be called upon by Sad Lad. Meaning…?"

"Meaning," Husk said. "What? The kid's in control?"

"Bingo, Romeo!" Alastor said, winking. "When he delves deep and calls on that latent part of himself, whatever's working so very hard to keep these parts separate loses its grip and BAM! Punch joins Judy and we've got a problem! Which is why I think we should unionize and petition Charlie to–"

"Hah-ha! Okay!" Charlie broke in, pushing Alastor out of the way. "Thank you, Al! You're a peach, as always! So, what have we learned?"

"Shit's fucked," said Husk.

"But…" Vaggie said, shrugging. "We can… un-fuck it?"

"That's right!" Charlie cheered, pointing at Vaggie and then at Husk. "As is, if Moonchild calls on Diavolo, he gets taken over because…?"

"He's a pussy," said Husk.

Vaggie nodded. "A _huge_ pussy."

"A huge, fishy-smelling–" Niffty said, smiling brightly.

"Thank you!" Charlie broke in again, her smile brittle. "Thank you all very much! But yes. He's _passive_ , because all his active traits are currently screaming bloody murder in Limbo. But he's the bridge! This means all we have to do is, uh, pep him up! Give him some confidence, reinforce his sense of self. If we can help treat his trauma and positively reinforce his own ego and identity, maybe he'll be able to resist when we try and, well, reincorporate."

"Wait," Husk said, holding his hand up. "Pump the brakes. We're actually gonna try and redeem a dude who's named _himself_ 'Diavolo'?"

"Yep!"

Husk sighed and leaned back in his chair. "…Okay."

"Husk, we have to try. As Alastor said, a soul cannot be separate from itself, which means if we want to help Moonie, we have to at least try and help Diavolo."

"I still ain't callin' him that."

"It makes sense to me," said Niffty. "If we build up the Moonchild persona up enough that its identity is fully realized, it may predominate when we call upon his shadow. From there we can work on emantiodromia, then assimilation, and, if successful, compensation and then wholeness. Only when the illness within Moonchild is dealt with can we tackle the madness in Diavolo, merging the two as a single soul capable of redemption."

Charlie, Husk, Vaggie and Alastor stared at the chipper little bug-demon, confounded.

"What?" Niffty shrugged. "I find Jung's work fascinating. It's all very tidy."

"Uh, okay, so," Vaggie said, gesturing to Charlie. "What's the plan?"

Charlie smiled and put her hands on her hips. "We build up his self esteem, reassure his sense of self, and, by God, we give him a little confidence!"

Husk smirked and folded his arms. "So, what, we're gettin' him laid?"

"No!"

A wry pause hung in the air.

"Well, I mean…" Charlie cleared her throat. "If that's what it takes…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean... it couldn't hurt, could it?


	8. Anima

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I posted on the right story this time

Chapter 8: Anima

Moonchild's eyes fluttered open, he was in his bed, swaddled in the luxuriously soft linens the hotel had provided. He groaned as he moved to sit up, his whole body hurt, like he'd well and truly overdone it at the gym. Still, some part of him felt… good? It was a good kind of hurt, the kind that promised growth.

"Hey twink!" Angel said, popping into view. "You're up!"

"I am. And you're…" Moonchild said, looking around. "In my room?"

"That's right!" Angel said, booping him on the low, rounded, slitted nub that served as his nose. "We patients gotta stick togedda, yeah? How're ya feelin'? Need anythin'?"

Moonchild was exhausted, sore, and more than a little confused, but even he chafed under this obvious sychophancy. "What do you want, Angel?"

Angel's smile only widened at his tone. "A little tender, are we? I like this side'a ya, Flounder! Right, okay! So, Husk, see, he got this look in his eye, right?"

"If you say so."

"I watch 'im a lot," Angel chuckled. "Mostly when he thinks no-one's lookin', so I knows when he's gots an idea. And I gots an idea too, see?"

Moonchild shook his head. "No, I don't?"

Angel sighed and snapped his fingers. "Kid! Yer powers! If a cardshark like Husk walks into a casino witcha at his side, the two a yous could clean a bitch out! Like ya said, ya know who's gonna fold, who's gonna call, what they're holdin'! Y'know how the dice'll fall or where the ball drops! Kid, yer a goddamned goldmine! Ya tellin' me y'never even _thought_ about usin' yer powers for money?"

Moonchild blinked, a crease of consternation forming in his brow. "But… that's _cheating_."

Angel wasn't sure if he wanted to slug the kid or slip into that bed and steal some of that innocence for himself. He took a third option and squeezed his cheek. "Fuck me, yer adorable. Yeah, kid, it's cheatin', but those casinos is rotten anyhow, so I don't think it counts as a sin. Point is, I'm gonna pop th'question to Huskie-Wuskie and I need ya on board. The three of us, workin' together, we could pull down some fat stacks, yeah? Waddaya say?"

"I don't know…" Moonchild said, rubbing his neck. "Will it… make Mr. Husk happy?"

Angel smiled broadly, winking. "Nothin' and I mean nothin' makes 'Mr. Husk' happier'n knockin' those fatcats down a peg. Ya might even see 'im smile."

Moonchild weighed his options; stay in like he'd always done and, what, take up pottery? Or would he go out with some friends(?) and have fun?

Welp.

"I'm in."

"Great!" Angel cheered, leaning down and kissing him on the cheek. "Now, I'm just gonna need ya to ask yer boss for a day or two off, yeah?"

"…Oh."

* * *

Husk sipped his coffee and read the newspaper. It was the usual tripe, useless stocks, gang murders, a new cannibal joint opening up the street; stuff he couldn't give a shit about. In fact, there wasn't much that could distract him from the fact that, once again, some nonsense was threatening to bring the whole hotel crashing down around their ears. And if they were lucky, it would only be the hotel. And, once a-fucking-gain, Charlie laid out the red carpet for the likely agent of their doom, and was planning some cockamamie scheme to redeem the little hellion come hell or high-water.

He sighed and sipped his coffee.

Whatever.

She'd done it before, and she'd do it again. Besides, what's the worst this edgy douche canoe could do? It's not like he could flat-out erase people like Kira could. Nah. Worst case Ontario, he'd just… grind them into paste with his bare hands? Not fun, but not dead, either. No, no, the plan's still good.

He just needed to be prepared.

Husk flicked his wrist and a deck of polished metallic cards appeared in his hand. They were gently tapered inward on all edges, giving them heft despite their thinness. It also meant that their corners and edges were sharp enough to mince a pinpoint and the hypothetical angels that danced upon it, too. Oh, and the cards were made of Seraphim Steel, their primary selling-point. Reforged from an Exorcist's weapon God-knows how long ago and printed into a 52-card deck that was as priceless as it was deadly. Looking at the deck always made Husk smile, reminded him of the day he'd won them from a murderous gangster known as Poker Face. He'd mogged that smug jackass but good.  
He pulled a card from the middle of the stack, a mirror-polished ace of spades. He could slice an apple from thirty paces with a paper card, these babies could pierce armor, flesh, and bone. And unless you knew how to treat the wound, it'd kill just like it would if the target were mortal.

He was prepared for anything.

"Heeey, Mittens~" A familiar voice cooed as a pair of willowy arms draped over his shoulders.

Almost anything.

Husk sipped his coffee. "What did I say about touchin' me?"

"Don't ever stop?" Angel Dust leaned in and blew in his ear.

"Right." Husk slapped the arms off his shoulders. "Cept the 'stop' was silent! Waddaya want, Bug?"

"Oooh…. y'know what I want, Fluff," Angel purred, sitting on the table-side, crossing and uncrossing his legs in full view.

Husk glanced at the spider's selling points, and while some part of him conceded that the poof was a gorgeous slice of cake, the rest of him wanted none of the arachnid's baggage. "I'm broke. Go sling yer wares at the new guy."

Angel tittered and batted Husk's shoulder playfully. "Oh, y'are? Too bad! But it's funny y'should mention. See, I been thinkin'…"

"A dangerous passtime."

"I know." Angel's smile widened. "I also know you've been thinkin' too. 'Bout the kid, 'bout his powers. Cardshark like you, why, y'could turn a tidy profit."

" _What do you want, Angel?_ " Husk growled, his fur bristling.

"I want in," said Angel, polishing his nails on his lapel. "I also wanna cut a'the winnin's."

"And I want bottomless bottle of 12 year old Glenmorangie in my hand," said Husk, brandishing his mug. "Gawrsh. Too bad, huh?"

"He likes his scotch how he likes his girls," sneered Angel. "12 years old and mixed up with coke."

"That's disgusting!" Husk shook his head and snipped his coffee. "What kinda degenerate mixes scotch with coke?"

"Well, what was yer bright idea, Mittens? Walz into a casino with th'kid in tow, have him whisper th'winnin' hand or whatever into yer ear until ya win too much and have the house skin ya alive?" Angel rolled his eyes and re-crossed his legs, running a finger down Husk's ear. "I knows ya been thinkin' about how ta get Moonie to help ya, but ya also been hittin' a wall. That's where I come in."

Husk set his mug down and sighed, glaring at the spider-demon. "Let's hear it."

Angel smiled and framed his face with one pair of hands and pointed to it with another. "I doll us up. You saw back there, th'kid's gorgeous! Alls I gotta do is dress 'im up some, and ain't no-one will even think twice about a pretty young thing leanin' in and whisperin' in ya ear, or holdin' ya hand, or whatever system yer goin' with! Think about it, ya walk into a casino wit' two choice pieces a'arm candy hangin' off ya, him pullin' eyes offa you, me pullin' eyes offa him, it's perfect camouflage!"

Husk's fingers rapped against the table-top like machinegun fire, his face a darkening storm-front of irritation. "…Fuck. I hate it when ya make sense."

"Ayy! See?" Angel leaned in and planted a little kiss on his cheek. "We're the perfect team!"

Husk swatted him away and growled. "The kid's still gotta be on board with this!"

"He is, I asked!" Angel said, leaning back on the table. "Alls I had to say was how happy it'd make ya and he was all for it!"

Husk willed a small blush out of his cheeks and cleared his throat. "Well… we'd still gotta run it by Chuck. I doubt she'd want you in a high-temptation environment, or him, well, _anywhere near a casino!_ "

"You kiddin'?" Angel scoffed, waving him off. "Chuck wants to build the kid up, yeah? Well, what better way than to hit the town witcha friends and have a night-long winnin' streak? Grab some booze, grab some hooers, feel like a big-shot for once! She wants the kid to grow a spine and feel like a man, ain't no better way that stacks, slots, and sluts!"

"Well, I'd have to pitch it a bit differently to Chuck, but…" his eyes snapped open. "Hey, waitaminute! How'd ya know she wants to put starch in the kid's pants?"

"Niffty told me," said Angel, shrugging. "She was bringin' Moonie some soup or some shit as I was walkin' outta his room."

"She told you–" Husk's eyes snapped open. "Oh shit!"

Husk shot to his feet and scrambled out the room.

"Ay!" Angel called after him. "We gotta deal or what?"

* * *

"There you go, sweetie~" Niffty said as Moonchild swallowed another spoonful of soup. "You were hungry, huh?"

"I suppose so," said Moonchild as she prepared him another spoonful. "Really, Mrs. Niffty, I can feed myse–ulp!"

"Nonsense!" Niffty giggled, pushing the spoon into his mouth. "I heard you had quite an ordeal! Mr. Alastor wants to help, but he can be a touch indelicate, you know?"

"A touch, yes," said Moonchild, his brow furrowing. "I don't remember much of what happened, but Charlie seemed happy with the results, so I guess it's okay!"

"And how!" Niffty nodded, her smile widening. "Oh, we'll have you redeemed in no time at all! I can feel it! But first, we have to get you all big and strong again!"

"Thank you, Mrs–" Moonchild began to say, only to be silenced by a slender little finger pressing against his full, pouty lips.

"Mrs? Oh no no no no…" She leaned in close, batting her eye in a sultry fashion. "I'm single. _Very_ single."

"O-oh? Um, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed," Moonchild said, slowly backing away up the bed.

"Not at all!" Niffty purred, crawling after him. "I see you're feeling stronger."

Moonchild's head bumped against the head of the bed, stopping him. "M-Miss Niffty?"

"Have you ever heard of the concept of the psychological shadow?" Niffty's hand settled on his thigh, slowly moving up his lap. "See, it's this idea that all the stuff we repress about ourselves, bad thoughts, good thoughts, _natural impulses_ , why, they all get pushed into this mass called a 'shadow'. And the more and more we repress, the darker and deeper the shadow gets, until it pops out in unhealthy outbursts." Her hand, now quite high on his lap, began to inch inward. "See, if we _indulge_ the shadow, let it out from time to time, get to know it _intimately_ , why, the less dark and deep and repressed it becomes! Charlie figures you got yourself a mighty big, burly, _dangerous_ shadow that needs to be let out in a… constructive manner."

Moonchild pressed himself against the headrest, sweat beading on his forehead. "M-Miss Niffty…"

"Shh shh shh…" she cooed, her face inching closer to his. "It's alright. I'm here to help…"

A stream of cold water splashed across Niffty's cheek, causing her to squawk and scramble off of Moonchild.

"Shoo! Off!" Husk said, a spray-bottle in hand. "Go on! Git!"

Niffty hissed and swatted at him as he sprayed her. Husk pulled out a bottle of red wine and capped it, holding it forebodingly over the white linens of Moonchild's bed. "Ah! Beat feet, critter, 'else I'll upend this shit, I swear to God!"

Niffty's eye narrowed. "You _wouldn't!_ "

Husk tilted the bottle and allowed a single drop to fall.

" _ **No!**_ " Niffty roared as she leapt forward. " _ **That's Egyptian cotton, you goddamned barbarian!**_ "

She caught the single drop in her hands, her face splitting into a triumphant smile. Husk cleared his throat and drew her attention up, he was swishing the bottle around, preparing to pour. "Think you can catch it all?"

Niffty growled and hopped off the bed, scuttling out the door, stopping only to leer and blink (wink?) at Moonchild before leaving.

Moonchild exhaled explosively, wiping sweat off his brow. "Thank you, Mr. Husk."

"Sorry about that, kid," Husk said, sitting down on the bedside. "She got a type."

"I'm her type?" Moonchild said, cocking his head to the side. "She didn't seem to like me much before."

"Nah, nah, it's just…" Husk eyed Moonchild up for a second. "Say. How much do ya remember of yer, uh, session with Al?"

"Nothing, why?"

Husk grunted and hoisted the wine bottle, taking a few solid gulps. "No reason. Happens with hypnotism, I hear. Anyway, Angel done chatted ya up about our little excursion?"

"Oh yes!" Moonchild said, sitting up and smiling glowingly. "It sounds like so much fun!"

Husk felt an involuntary smile almost crawl across his mug before he turned away from Moonchild, drawing his hand down over his face. He paused for a moment before clearing his throat. "Yeah. Fun. So, uh, ya think you can get the time off?"

"Oh, I'm sure!" Moonchild said, nodding. "I haven't asked for a single day off in 20 years! Prince Stolas is sure to let me take two days."

"Great," said Husk, getting to his feet and walking to the door. "Wonderful. Tomorrow after work, uh, ya meet up with Angel and he'll, uh, make ya presentable, yeah?"

"Of course. Oh, and Mr. Husk?"

Husk felt a chill crawl its way up his spine. He turned around, expecting to see whatever green-eyed sea creature had savaged two of the the strongest demons he'd ever met towering over him. Instead he saw Moonchild sitting in his bed, a small, gracious smile on his face.

"Thank you for taking me along," he said. "It means a lot."

"Uh, yeah…" Husk said, something strange and bitter catching in his throat. "Don't mention it."

* * *

The palace was unusually empty that day. The ubiquitous staff were nowhere to be seen, and the general feel of the vast palace was ominous, foreboding. He made his way through the empty halls toward his workplace, his anxiety slowly building: something was terribly wrong.

Moonchild leaned into the reception room, looking around slowly. The room was dark, slightly askew, as though there had been a small commotion that had yet to be cleaned up after. A light shone out from under the door, someone was in Stolas' office.

He gently rapped on the door. "My Lord? Are you in?"

The sound of clattering furniture and scrambling feet sounded on the other side of the door. It swung open to reveal a disheveled Prince Stolas, dressed only in his night robe, his eyes were deeply bagged and sunken, the feathers beneath his eyes damp; the prince had been crying.

"Moonie!" He exclaimed, scooping the smaller demon off the ground and into a tight embrace, tears flowing down his white face. "You're okay! Oh, I was so worried! When you didn't come in yesterday, I feared the worst! It's so good to see you-hoo-hoo-hoooo~"

"It's good to see you too, My Lord," said Moonchild, muffled by the puffy, feathered chest he was being squeezed against. "Are you okay?"

Stolas held Moonchild out in front of him like a puppy, smiling. "Better now, my precious boy."

The owl demon tucked Moonchild under his arm and walked back into his office. Moonchild gasped as he was set down the floor, the office looked like a bomb had gone off inside it. The furniture was strewn all about, a black scorch mark slashed across the expensive rug and one side of a toppled chair.

"My Lord! What happened here?" Moonchild started and turned around to face Stola. "Oh no! Was there a bomb? If I were here, I would have caught it and–Oh, I'm so sorry, My Lord!"

Stola chuckled and pat Moonchild on head as he walked past him and towards a cracked wood and glass cabinet. "Oh, nonsense, my boy! It was… well, it wasn't a bomb. Drink?"

"Oh?" Moonchild looked down as a crystal tumbler was pushed into his hands and filled with a brown liquid. "I guess."

"Brandy! Camus Napoleon La Grande Marque Cognac, 1970. Excellent vintage! It was given to me by a bishop who needed some rivals to quite literally fall off the face of the Earth. Here, a toast! To wives and sweethearts!" Stolas poured himself a nearly-full glass for himself and clinked the glass to Moonchild's. "May they never meet! Oh ho ho ho ho!"

The owl-demon cackled and knocked back the whole glass in a single gulp, Moonchild sniffed the obviously very expensive liquor, sipping it and wincing at the alcohol burn. He looked around the office, noticing now that much of the debris on the floor were empty bottles.

"My Lord, are you… drunk?"

"I should hope so!" Stolas said, a slur now very clear in his voice. "I've been drinking this expensive swill all night!"

Stolas poured himself another glass and sat down on the floor, patting a spot next to him. "Come, sit. Sit sit sit."

Moonchild sat next to him, swishing the unpleasant alcohol about in his glass. Stolas sipped from his cup and set a hand on the boy's shoulder, sighing. "So. Where were you the other day?"

"Oh, uh, I got, um, kidnapped by a pimp," said Moonchild, rubbing the back of his neck. "Or, he dressed like a pimp, anyway."

"Oh, Moonie!" Stolas groaned. "Again?"

Moonchild smiled and shook his head. "Oh, don't worry about me, My Lord. I got away, it just took me longer this time. May I ask what happened here?"

Stolas sighed and lean back. "Oh, just had some family drop by for a visit. Things got… heated."

"Is that why there's no one here?"

He nodded. "I had Octavia and Stella sent away to the estate in Pride, the staff went with them. They'll be safe there."

"Safe, My Lord?"

Stolas moved to pour another glass for himself before tossing the tumbler over his shoulder and taking a swig straight from the bottle. "Oh Moonie, my dear, sweet Moonie… Look, business is going to be suspended for the next little while, so consider this a paid vacation, alright? Just lay low and try not to, you know, stand out."

"Sir?"

"No more questions, my little fishie," Stolas slurred, pouring more brandy into Moonchild's glass. "Drink, drink, drink with me, Moonie!"

Moonchild steeled himself and knocked back the brandy, hissing and wincing at the burn. Stolas tittered and pat Moonchild on the head, pouring him another glass before taking a pull from the bottle. "There you go!"

Moonchild felt the warm flush of the brandy blossom in his chest, a dull blush forming in his cheeks. "Thank you, My Lord."

\----

Moonchild grunted as he guided Stolas down the empty hall, the much larger demon shambling after him, partially leaning on him. They stopped outside the ornately carved door of Stolas' boudoir, the soused owl gesturing at the heavy door, willing it open.

"Thhhanks you, Moonie~" Stolas slurred, tottering inside. "Come insh–come insiiiide, will you? I don't want to be aloooone…"

"Of-of course, My Lord," Moonchild said, smiling blithely, his head swimming. "No one wants to be alone."

Moonchild followed him in and guided his inebriated boss over to the luxurious bed. Stolas didn't so much as get in the bed as he toppled forwards, bouncing slightly. Moonchild turned around to find a chair when a taloned hand streaked out and plucked him off the ground. Moonchild squeaked as he was swept off his feet and once again pressed into the soft, warm feathers of Stolas' bare chest.

The owl-demon crossed his arms over Moonchild and squeezed. "Moonie, Moonie, Moonie…"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Moonie, Moonie, Moonie…" he repeated, chuckling. "I just like saying your name. It's pretty, like the rest of you."

Moonchild laughed as Stolas booped his nose. "Thank you, My Lord."

"Call me 'Stolas'," he crooned, pinching his cheek. "Mmmmoonie~"

"Okay, Stolas. Hee-hee! I never thought I'd call you that to your face!" Moonchild said, his brow furrowing when he didn't respond. "Stolas?"

Stolas lay with his head craned back, snoring softly. "Snnrr-hoo-hoo-hoo… snnrr-hoo-hoo-hoo…"

Moonchild smiled and wriggled out of his lord's grasp. He dutifully set about tucking the unconscious owl in, setting his head upon his pillow as he drew the blankets over his body. "Be safe, Stolas. It's nice to know you care."

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Vaggie said, crossing her arms.

"Nope!" Charlie chirped. "But Husk said he was going to keep a close eye on Moonie and Angel. He'll keep them out of trouble."

"Okay, but wouldn't it be easier to keep them out of trouble if, you know, they stayed in?"

"Vaggie, we won't make any progress with Moonie if we treat him like some delicate flower or dangerous animal." Charlie turned to face Vaggie. "Husk is right, socialization is vital if we're going to build up his confidence and strengthen his sense of self."

" _Husk_ said that?" Vaggie smiled, cocking an eyebrow.

' _A little quality time with the guys will get that guppy to untuck it._ ' Charlie laughed and shrugged. "More or less? Look. Positive reinforcement is key, and if we're going to build up Moonchild's confidence, we have to start somewhere. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

The door swung open and in tottered a clearly very drunk Moonchild. "Hellooooo Happy Hotel! Sssomeone tell Mr. Husk I got the time off! I just need to-to-to–"

Moonchild paled, greened, and rushed over to a nearby potted plant and vomited loudly.

"Guy's Night is off to a great start," Vaggie said, wryly. "I'll get Niffty."

"Moonie!" Charlie exclaimed, rushing over to the retching demon. "What happened?"

"Ooh, that feels so much better," said Moonchild, looking up at her. "Oh, Stolas was, uh, wallowing, is that the right word? He sent everyone away and was wallowing and invited me to drink. So I did!"

Charlie helped him to his feet, he laughed and waved her off. "I'm okay, I'm okay now! I may be a fish, but rarely drink."

"Why was he drinking?"

Moonchild eyed her up, his expression uncharacteristically sarcastic. "Some people find being investigated by Duke Sallos stressful, I guess." His eyes went wide and he clapped his hands over his mouth. "Oh no! I wasn't supposed to tell anyone that!"

"It's alright, Moonie," Charlie said, smiling gently. "I already knew."

"What? How?" Moonchild paused and shook his head. "Well, I mean, you're the princess. Of course you'd know."

"Yeah… that's how…"

"Hey, Moonie!" A gruff, raspy called out, Husk was making his way over to the two of them, a perplexed smirk on his sour face. "Whoa, kid. You hammered?"

"Helloooo Mr. Husk!" Moonchild said, grinning. "I got the time off! I just had to, uh, schmooze with the boss some. He has some expensive tastes in cognac."

"Cognac, eh?" Husk said, shaking his head. "Well, nothin' to be done now. You'll probably sleep like a ton of bricks once ya come down, and we need you peppy. C'mere."

"Husk, I–" Charlie began to say when Moonchild pulled away from her, following after the grouchy sphinx.

"Mr. Husk knows his stuff when it comes to drinking," said the fish-demon. "And I still want to go out and have some fun, Charlie."

Charlie started to follow after them, but relented, a concerned crease in her brow. "I… okay, Moonie."

\---

"Alright, kid, I'm gonna fix you a pick-me-up. Ya done got an early start on the night, but that's okay. Just don't drink 'cept when I tell ya to and we can keep on rollin' to the wee hours."

Husk hopped behind the bar and, in a series of seemingly unconscious movements, laid down a swath of celery salt and a lime wedge with one hand and produced a tall glass with another, his tail lifting up small bottles of Worcestershire, soy sauce, and tabasco in a bundle. He ringed the rim of the lime wedge and up-ended it into the celery salt, leaving a rime. He dashed the various sauces into the glass and reached under the bar, pulling out a can of Clamato and a bottle of light beer. He capped the Clamato and beer, pouring both into the glass, the streams mixing in the air. He squeezed the lime wedge into the concoction and dropped it in, licking the juice off his fingers as he swiped with another hand, sending the tall glass of frothing, reddish liquid sliding across the bar to Moonchild.

"Wow!" Moonchild cooed, clapping. "You're good at that!"

"Red Eye. It'll keep ya from sobering up too much, but it'll keep yer body topped up on the essentials." Husk said, looking terribly pleased with himself. "Drink that up and getcha ass up to Angel's room. He's gonna doll ya up some so we can be seen witcha."

Moonchild nodded and obediently drained the glass. Husk watched with wry amusement as his pretty face flushed from the modest heat of the tabasco. "You like it?"

"Mm! Yes! Very, uh–" Moonchild loosed a small belch and chuckled, wiping his mouth. "Excuse me."

"If that's the worst thing ya do today, it's a wasted night." Husk jabbed a thumb at the ceiling. "Now, get yerself to the spider's parlor."  
Moonchild nodded and took off for the staircase.

Husk watched him as he did, slowly becoming aware of the small smile persisting on his face. He willed it away, that strange bitter feeling returning to the pit of his stomach.

What was it?

Husk shook his head and hopped out from behind the bar.

It would pass.

It always did.

* * *

It was about 20 minutes later when Angel made his way down the staircase and into the lobby. He was done up in a cherry-red number that reached his knees, his long legs covered in dark stockings and tall, black stiletto heels. His lips were glossy black that complimented his eyeshadow, made all the more striking by the flowing platinum blonde wig atop his head. Under his lower left arm was a small purse on a spaghetti string band.

"Angel…" Charlie began to say, reproachfully.

"Ah ah ah!" Angel interrupted, wagging his finger. "Tsk tsk Chuck! I ain't gonna go out workin', this is guy-night. No Johns, I promise!"

"I'll keep 'im outta trouble, Chuck," Husk said. "Where's Moonie?"

Angel smirked and stepped to the side, arms swinging wide in a dramatic flourish. "Taa-daaa~! I gotta say, this is my best work!"

Charlie gasped, her expression aghast despite the furious blush burning in her pale cheeks. "Moonie?"

"Oh, just get out of here. I don't even wanna look at–" Niffty grumbled something and looked up from the now pristine potted plant. "Holy shit."

Moonchild stood with his hands crossed over his lap in a vain attempt at modesty. His long, leanly muscled legs filled out a pair of fishnet stockings all the way up to the scandalously short-cut Daisy Dukes, seeming to merge together and spout out the top of the slim scrap of denim and swaddle his tight, toned midsection. On top he wore a snug black Bardot long-sleeve crop-top. His face was done up in the same make-up from before, but his 'hair' had extended itself down over his shoulder in a textured braid bracketed by three gold bands and, his bangs held over his forehead by a decorative spider hair-clip.

"H-how do I look?"

"Hey, have they gone yet? I want to give them the updated contact inf–" Vaggie said as she walked into the room, her eye snapping open wide upon seeing Moonchild. " _ **Buh.**_ "

"See somethin' ya like, Snatch?" Angel snickered.

Charlie averted her eyes from his long legs, hand raised to her face. "Isn't that get-up a little, er, revealing?"

"I tried to get 'im into a miniskirt, but there was some, uh," Angel said, pointing down. "Overflow."

"Husk…" Charlie said, her tone low and foreboding. "What, exactly, are you doing tonight?"

Husk avoided her stare and grabbed Angel and Moonchild by the wrists. "Leaving."

"Byyye Chuck!" Angel said, grinning at them over his shoulder.

G-Good bye, Charlie!" Moonchild said as he was dragged along. "Have a good ni–"

The door swung shut behind them.

"I'm starting to think you were right, Vaggie," Charlie sighed and folded her arms across her chest, brow furrowed in concern. "Maybe I shouldn't have–Vaggie?"

Vaggie stared out the window, blushing, as Moonchild stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the cab, hips swaying subconsciously as he did. Angel glanced over his shoulder, he saw her and grinned maliciously. The spider tossed his purse to the ground and, ever courteous, Moonchild bent over in full view to collect it. Vaggie's grey face went near scarlett.

"Vaggie?"

Vaggie watched a little longer before blinking and turning to Charlie. "M'sorry, wha?"

* * *

The interior of the cab was greasy, well-used, with stains aplenty, but it was cheap and the engine ran. Husk wondered sourly if the brakes worked or if they'd have to tuck and roll outside their destination. The more he thought about it, the less outlandish it seemed, not helped by what sounded like a million loose screws and popped welds the second the rolling scrap-heap hit a jaywalker.

"So, whatcha wanna do is loop yer arm under his and match his pace, like yer a pretty bird on display."

"Like this?"

"Naw naw! Don't lock elbows like ya playin' Red Rover. Weave the forearm under like so. Yeah, see? Delicate, and it loops yer wrist over his, the grip is strong, but don't look it."

Husk looked over to see Angel and Moonchild interlocking arms; the spider was in his element, teaching the new girl the ropes. Husk's lip curled involuntarily. That look in Charlie's eyes. What did she think they were up to with Moonie? Whatever it was, was it really any less exploitative that what they were planning to do?

Not really, but why should that bother him?

All they were going to do was use the kid's powers to… cheat some very powerful, humorless demons out of an ungodly sum of money. The consequences of getting caught would be, well, Husk had only gotten out of such situations by quite literally throwing his accomplices to the dogs. And when that didn't work… well, he was still on the fence whether or not that particular handshake had been worth it. They'd just have to not get caught, then!

"Alright, listen up, you two," said Husk. "You both look the part, but now yer gonna have to act it. Angel knows how to look good and get eyes on him, but Moonie, yer gonna have to work closely with both of us if we're gonna slip under the radar."

"Okay!" Moonchild nodded, slightly drunk determination flushing in his cheeks. "What do I do?"

"Alright, so, obviously we're not gonna have you call every hand or drop. That's how you draw attention fast." Husk pointed to himself. "I make the call when we're gonna win, yeah? You keep yer eyes on me, the both of ya, when I give the signal," he arced his left eyebrow and flared his left nostril. "See that? When I do that, Angel, ya do yer thing and do whatever ya can to get eyes on ya. Then, kid, I bump ya under the table with my tail and y'whisper the winnin' combo in my ear."

"Make it look like yer givin' 'im a peck," Angel said, smirking at Husk. "Or like yer tellin' 'im where he's gonna stick it, later!"

Husk growled and moved to swat at Angel when Moonchild shook his head. "No, that's too obvious! If I whisper in your ear or something and then you win, they'd notice after the first few times!" He paused and thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Angel, you have some sunglasses in your bag, right?"

Angel nodded and produced the glasses, the lenses were dark pink and circular, ringed with shiny golden chrome.

"Give them to Mr. Husk so no-one can see his eyes well."

Angel did and Husk turned to Moonchild. "Alright, kid. Whatcha thinkin'?"

Moonchild ran his fingers through his 'hair', the inside of his bangs undulated, the image of the cab interior appearing on them, along with a series of shapes that became hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs along with various numbers.

Angel cackled and clapped his hands. "Whoa, kid! How'd ya do that?"

"The creatures on earth that look like this thing on my head, squid, octopi, and cuttlefish, they have these special cells that can change color and reflect light. I have them too, for some reason, and I'm good enough at it to make images and blend into my surroundings. Mr. Husk, with those glasses on, you can look at the inside of my bangs and see who has what cards and decide then if you'll take the win or leave it."

"Hey…" Husk said, tapping his chin. "That ain't a bad idea! Angel, you still make a scene when I say, we need every set of eyes off us we can get."

"Don't need to tell me to make a scene!" Angel laughed, offering his hand. "Moonie, hand out! Team cheer!"

Moonchild put his hand over Angel's, the two of them looking expectantly at Husk.

Husk sighed and put his paw over their hands. "Go team, and shit. Whatever."

"Break!"

* * *

The Azathoth Casino was the largest in the West Side, a colossal black pyramid some one thousand meters high, surrounded by equally tall spire-shaped skyscrapers, the pointed caps of each glowed red with hellish energy. The vast footprint of the pyramid served as the common grounds, where low-level sinners, imps, and hellhounds dwelt and dealt and festered, with each floor up signaling a commensurate increase in the quality of clientele. The Azathoth was unique in that it combined the vast fluctuations of money and power that prodigious casinos enjoyed with the profit and traffic of vulgar establishments. The true selling point of the Azathoth was its relatively free upward mobility. Here, even an imp could buy their way to the top with enough luck and guile.

Husk swaggered into the lobby, Angel and Moonchild hanging off his arms. Angel winked and preened, overjoyed at the heads turning his way, The spider was truly at home in the spotlight. Moonchild, on the other hand, would likely have shrank and demurred if he knew how many heads he turned, were he not hopelessly enthralled by the sheer scale and opulence of the casino. Husk smiled despite himself, suddenly aware of how much he'd missed seeing genuine awe and wonder.

"This place is incredible," Moonchild muttered.

"It gets better," said Husk, looking up. "Do a good job and you'll see it all."

Moonchild nodded and tightened his grip on Husk's arm. Husk felt his heart start to race, a mild blush settling in his cheeks. He shook it off, focusing on his mission: clean this bitch out.

"Alright," he said as they approached the front desk. "Game face on, kids."

He bought their way in.

\---

Some time later…

\---

"23!" The dealer, a trim, well-dressed jackal-demon, announced.

The crowd around the roulette wheel exploded into cheers as 50,000 dollars worth of chips was shoved Husk's way. The dour sphinx merely smirked and rolled out his shoulders. Angel clasped his hands together and shook them over his shoulders in victory, he moved to plant a wet one on Husk's cheek, only for the surly cardshark to brusquely brush him off. Moonchild, a few more drinks deep, hopped up and down in victory.

"We won!" He cheered, turning to Husk. "You won!"

"Thanks to you, kid," said Husk, notching the sunglasses down his snout and winking at him.

Moonchild's eyes sparkled in the dazzling casino light and he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Husk's shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. To Husk's surprise, he didn't for a second consider rebuffing the little demon, he didn't even react to the affection. Instead he just smiled and glanced over at a sulking Angel.

People would notice if he didn't give his girls a little sugar. "C'mere Bug!"

He wrapped his wing around Angel's hips and pulled him in, the cheer from the crowd kicking up a notch. "Dealer! Gimme four 10k chips, five 1k chips, and keep the change! We're headin' for level six, baby!"

The dealer nodded and gave his thanks, making the change and handing it off to them. Husk and his entourage took their winnings and made their way over to the elevator.

Husk dropped one of the 10k chips into the slot and the door opened with a dazzling display of lights and a triumphant round of fanfare. The trio stepped in and were on their way.

Pleasant elevator music played as they stood and waited, the smell of the first floor was finally starting to fade as they rose in the vast structure. Husk glanced over at Moonchild, who was blithely gawking at the interior of the fancy elevator. He smirked to himself, the kid was doing well. He probably didn't quite comprehend the danger they were in, thank God, but it was the booze that was taking the edge off the kid's shyness.

' _Better keep that rollin',_ ' Husk though to himself. ' _He seems to get a float offa watered down beer, so this'll take some finesse, he's no good to me hammered… though he would be fuckin' adorable…_ '

The doors opened with a 'ding'. The sixth level was where the chaff began to filter out, and it showed, exotically dressed demons milled about, the tasteful, syrupy music hung in the air like sweet perfume, the glint and glitter of gold and jewels flashed on the taloned hands of a different breed of hellion. Husk grinned and sauntered out, his eye-catching company made more than a few eyes drawn by the chime stick and follow. Angel Dust was known to this crowd for his exemplary service, but Husk noted with sardonic amusement that Angel's Hell-renowned looks were being overshadowed by the gentle, innocent little fry on his right.

Angel noticed too.

Husk could almost laugh.

"This place seems…" Moonchild said, his voice faltering. "Different."

"It is different," said Husk. "Angel, take Moonie and find us a table, I'm gonna grab us some drinks. Any requests?"

"Two Dirty Shirley's, double-strength for me," said Angel, patting Moonchild on the shoulder. "It's a swell drink, kid, you'll love it. C'mon."

"O-okay…" Moonchild said as he was led away. "Mr. Husk?"

"Yer doin' great, kid!" Husk called out after him. "I'll be right witcha!"

Husk turned away from them and made for the bar; he needed to get a shot of liquid courage into the kid if this roll they were on was going to play out. He stood at the bar and looked around, examining the whiskey and scotch section. There were some pretty fresh choices here; Glenmorangie, Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Edradour, Nikka Whiskey, the list went on. He decided to stick to the cheaper stuff, wait until they were further along in their winning streak before shelling out for the big stuff. Being a big spender before making big money always raised the wrong set of eyebrows.

He ordered their drinks, getting half-strength Dirty Temple for Moonchild and a double for Angel, he himself settling for a 12 Year Glenfiddich.

He reached for his wallet when the bartender raised his hand. "Your tab has been covered, sir."

Husk blinked. "What? I just got here."

The bartender nodded. "Indeed. A gentleman told me he was expecting you and to tell you when you ordered 'your swill' that he'd be covering your tab for as long as you're at the Azathoth."

Husk's eyes narrowed, his hackles raising. "Which demon?"

The bartender pointed. "Over there. The gentleman in the red and black suit at poker-table 7."

Husk took his drinks and made his way over. A single lizard-demon sat with three other, seriously frightened looking hellions, all around him stacks of multi-colored poker chips… a smaller, much more ominous stack of bone-white chips. As Husk approached, the cardshark slapped down his hand.

"Call. Six and King," he said. "Bob Saget."

The other three demon's faces twisted into paroxysms of horror, one shooting to his feet and scrambling away from the table. Quite for naught, as all three collapsed into boneless heaps, the color bleeding away from their paste-like forms as they each abruptly imploded into tiny discs, poker-chips, and floated over to the stack. The lizard-demon, specifically a gecko-demon, plucked one of the chips from the stack and began rolling the chip back and forth on his fingers.

"Husk," he said, gesturing to the now-empty chair opposite him across the table. "Have a seat."

"Much obliged," said Husk, sitting down and glaring at his host. "How are you, Poker Face?"

Poker Face flipped the chip and caught it, a wide, hateful grin spreading across his face. "Rolling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, remember him?
> 
> No?


	9. Libido

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things Happen: The Chapter

Chapter 9: Libido

The office to IMP was sparsely but tastefully decorated, Blitzo looked it over with unabashed pride. Blitzo had not blown all his share on garbage and tacky junk, to the surprise of everyone. Instead, he'd hired some of the best decorators in Hell to assemble for him a tasteful but easily replaced set of furniture and the like, since it was all inevitably going to catch fire or some other such nonsense. Blitzo may well be a fool, but he had basic pattern recognition, at least. Blitzo did, however, splurge on their weaponry. He made his way over to the armory, a huge steel vault he had specially made and installed by the finest smiths in Greed, if anyone knew how to make a safe safe, it was those stingy assholes. He reached out for the key-pad.

"One-one-one… uh…" Blitzo tapped his chin as he strained to recall. "Oh! One."

The lock beeped and flashed green, the foot-thick steel door hissed and swung open, the glittering contents shining in his eyes. "Yeah baby…"

Ever since that fateful mission, weaponry had never been a problem, and not because they became the most well-funded imp-run anything over the course of a single afternoon, either. No, M&M's seven-and-a-half foot tall 'baby' Gabriel saw to that. The sole surviving Junior they had adopted could turn any matter into any other form of matter, including guns, bombs, and all manner of weaponry.

Keeping an armory stocked was piss-easy and cheap-as-free when one of his employees could literally pull grenades out of thin air. The armory was for something not even Gabriel could replicate. The shelves were stocked with tens of thousands of rounds of ammunition of all types, the racks festooned with every melee weapon from axes to zhuas. The catch? Every last implement of death was crafted from Seraphim Steel.

So deadly.

So _expensive_.

He'd literally spent his entire share on the armory.

Worth it.

"Are you jacking off to your weapons again?" Loona growled from outside the huge safe.

"No!" Blitzo shouted, discretely doing up his fly. "Have M&M called back? I want to get underway with this new job ASAP! We can't afford to get behind schedule."

It was true. Ever since they'd returned victorious, La Squadra had done their level best to send business their way, and with their new armament and reputation, IMP could pick and choose their jobs and pay. Truth be told, no-one in that office ever needed to work again. But, as Blitzo's father always said ' _if you love your job, you'll never work a day in your life!_ ' A line he'd always bust out just before practicing throwing knives as Blitzo spun on a target board.

"Yeah, they disposed of the body and were on their way when they called," said Loona, disinterestedly. "That was, like, twenty minutes ago."

"Good!" Blitzo grinned, toothily. "I wanna kill this senator so bad my dick is grinding its teeth!"

"Ugh! You're so gross!"

Blitzo's hellphone screamed bloody murder as a call came in.

"God damnnit…" Blitzo sighed and checked the screen; it was Stolas. He answered. "What?!"

"Bllllit-zeeee…" the owl crooned. "Blitzy-Blitzy-Blitzy~"

"I'm very busy right now, Stolas," Blitzo said, marching out of the vault. "What do you want?"

"I'm looooonely Blitzy~" Stolas said, a slur now very evident in his lilting voice. "Youuuu shhhhould come on over and cooooome in meee. Ho-ho-ho!"

"Are you drunk?"

"No!" The sound of a bottle clicking against a beak sounded, followed by a series of hearty gulps. "I'm drinking. Preshin-tents. It's a fantashtic vintedge, youshhh oold try shum."

Blitzo considered this for a second, he'd seen the owl cock-drunk before, but not drank-drunk. "Okay, I'm listening. Why're you hammered?"

"Neffermind! Blitzy, listen, Moonie was ofer erlee er," Stolas babbled, the sound of sloshing liquid underscoring his no-doubt vibrant gesticulating. "Mmmy hawt little shecretary. Stella says heees prodi jusly endooed. I wannid you and I to play wiffim but he's gone now!"

Blitzo couldn't help but smile at the idea of having a tumble with the effeminate fishboy; maybe he'd cry! "Did you now? Hey, why don't you call him back over, ya done piqued my interest!"

"He doesn't havva phoooone, Blitzy," Stolas chuckled, his voice taking on that familiar lurid edge. "I woke up wannin a treeshum where you and I (BLEEP) with his (BLEEP) and (BLEEP) me (BLEEP) Eiffel Tower with (BLEEP) hard and fast (BLEEP) choking on both your (BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP)(BLEEP)(BLEEEEEEEEEEP) Hot and wet (BLEEP) pass your (BLEEP) back and forth in my–"

"Well, hey," Blitzo interrupted, now certain Stolas wasn't _actually serious_ about this perverted tirade, as usual. "There's always next time, right?"

There was a pause, a sound not unlike a sob, when Stolas spoke again, his voice was low and quiet. "Come over, Blitzy. I want to see you. Please?"

"Sorry, can't!" Blitzo said, shaking his head. "Gotta job today, and no, you can't pay me off this time. I'm a lot of things, Stolas, a first and foremost I'm a profes–"

"I'll wear the bridle this time~" Stolas crooned.

Blitzo's eyes snapped open wide, the phone shaking in his hand as a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. "E-excuse me?"

"I said, I'll wear the bridle this time," said Stolas, before adding, lasciviously: " _And the saddle._ "

Blitzo's stood in stunned silence, his red face flushing an even deeper shade of crimson. "I'll be right over."

Blitzo punched his finger clean through the phone before throwing it away and running out the door as fast as he could.

"Where are you going?!" Loona called after him. "The idiots are, like, five minutes away!"

"TheycanhandlethisoneIbelieveinthembeinbedbytenloveyoubyyye!"

Loona sighed and rolled her eyes, she didn't care. "Bed by ten? Fuck that."

* * *

Moonchild's head whipped around as he was dragged through the 6th Level. With a ten thousand soul buy-in for access, everyone here looked impossibly fancy. Given what his job was, he was used to fabulous wealth, but the Goetia family preferred regal stylings and tasteful displays of wealth and power.

Not these demons.

Vulgarians, his lord would call them, and their displays of wealth were exactly that, vulgar. Fur coats, hand-made suits, gold and jewels and fine silks in garish colors. These demons fought and killed and fornicated for their wealth, they had earned it in blood and other bodily fluids, and they were going to flaunt it!

Despite himself, his instinctive shyness and apprehensions about being around such creatures, Moonchild found himself being drawn in by the brazen displays of wealth and power, the confidence, the revelry. These demons had started out just like him, as nothing, as weaklings, and had taken what they wanted from the infernal plane. How many had gotten their start in this very casino, making their first fortune at these very tables?

"Heeey!" A feminine voice crowed over the clamor. "Angel! Heeeeey Aaaaangel!"

"Get the fuck out…" Angel muttered, a huge grin spreading across his perfect features. "Cherri?!"

A buxom, fierce-looking cyclops waved frantically to them from across the floor, fireworks and flares blazing in the air above her. "Over here, you dumb slut!"

"Ya crazy fuck!" Angel cackled, running over to her, dragging Moonchild along by the hand.

The two embraced and laughed, Angel pinching her cheek while she fondled his 'tits'.

"Lookit you, all dolled up!" She said, looking him up and down. "You working?"

"Naw! We're just out havin' fun," said Angel, looking her up and down. "Damn girl, yer rockin' that look!"

Cherri struck a pose, showing off her long, muscular legs, shod in knee-high Ravage-11 boots and tattered stockings climbing up into an equally worn-but-tasteful red leather skirt. Her top was the same battle-worn low-cut tank-top, but over it she wore a studded black leather jacket, on her hands were fingerless black leather gloves.

"Hellbent for leather, eh?" Angel said, wryly.

"My old look was fine, but I figured that now I'm a ganglord I gotta look the bad-bitch part, yeah?"

Angel's grin widened, somehow, and he rushed forward, grabbing her shoulders. "Yer a ganglord now?! When? How?"

She waved them over to her table where a small entourage of pimped-out Egg-Bois sat, ineptly trying to look intimidating. Angel sneered in disbelief when Cherri reached into her pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a poker chip. She ran her thumb down its surface and tossed it to the floor. The chip pulsated and expanded like rising dough, the amorphous mass eventually taking shape, firming up as color faded into its pale white surface. Laying on the ground before them was Sir Pentious, his usual pinstripe suit replaced with a decidedly slutty punk get-up that was essentially few strips of leather held together with fishnet and tattered nylon.

"Urgh…" the naga gurgled, his mascaraed eyes snapping open. "Where are we?! What's going on?!"

"Up you get, Penny."

Pentious went stiff and lurched upright like a puppet on strings, his face relaxed along with his body before shifting into a paroxysm of impotent rage. "Ssssstop that! I thought we were going to plan our nesssssxt campaign tonight! It's important we head off the Gadzooks Gang at the Caym–"

"Shh." Cherri put a finger to her lips. "We're taking the night off."

Pentious' lips snapped shut as though zipped, his eyes screaming bloody murder.

"Go get us some drinks, will you?"

Moonchild peered out from behind Angel."But Mr. Husk already–"

Angel clapped a hand over his mouth and laughed. "Freedrinksshaddup–two Dirty Shirleys, double-strength for one, half-shot for the other."

"Everclear on the rocks with a lemon wedge," said Cherri. "And get yourself something nice, 'kay Noodle?"

Sir Pentious grumbled and slithered away into the crowd, Angel watched with a manic grin, he turned to Cherri, jabbing a thumb at the servile serpent. "The fuck?"

"A while back, I had an old associate put the ol' shit twizzler under a spell or something," said Cherri grinning toothily. "When I say, he turns back into a poker chip, and whatever I write on the poker chip, he has to do. I wrote 'obey', so he obeys."

"And now yer, what, partners?" Angel said, incredulous.

Cherri shrugged. "More like 'I control him and his army of eggy dipshits'."

"Boss-Lady is talkin' about us!" One of the Egg Bois said, smiling.

"Woo!" Cheered another.

"I long for death!" Another said, a placid grin on his face. "Step on me, Mommy!"

"Combine his tech with my badassery (as well as a plot of territory Trouble's gang sent my way for service) and you got yourself a new ganglord!" Cherri leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. "But enough about me, what's new with you?"

"Rehab sucks, the usual," nodding his head at the little fish demon sitting next to him. "Me and anudda Hazbin are just havin' a night on the town, just us girls."

"And Mr. Husk," said Moonchild. "He's our sponsor."

"Who's this?" Cherri said to Angel, leaning on the table, resting her chin on her hands as she looked Moonchild up and down. "He's adorable. I want one."

"I'm Moonchild," he said, slightly uncomfortable now that he had the intimidating demoness's direct attention. "I'm a patient at the Happy Hotel."

"Oh, are you now?" Cherri said, amused. "And what's a sweet thing like you down here for?"

"I was the underboss for Passione."

Cherri's eye snapped open, she glanced at Angel who nodded, a grin on his face. Cherri threw her head back and laughed. "You really can't judge a book by its cover! Tell me, kid, how'd you land that gig?"

"I…" Moonchild's eyes flashed green for a moment. "I…"

"Hey arright!" Angel broke in. "Drinks are here!"

Sir Pentious set the tray down on the table, placing the drinks in front of each of them, a round of shots for the Egg Bois, before grabbing a single long flute of pale green liquid for himself.

"What didja get, Penny?" Said Cherri, squeezing the lemon wedge into her grain alcohol.

"Death in the Afternoon," Pentious hissed, pleased with himself. "Absinthe and champagne."

"Champagne for your true friends!" Cherri said, raising her glass.

"True pain for your sham friends!" Pentious cackled, clinking his to hers.

They both laughed and took a sip, the three Egg Bois knocking back their shots and cheering.

Angel's eyes darted back and forth between them, a look of horror spreading across his face. "Are the two a yous… togedda?"

Cherri and Pentious's eyes went wide as they glanced at each other and then back to Angel.

"HMS Penny-Bomb, ahoooooy!" Egg Boi #1 crowed. "Smooooth sailin'! No icebergs!"

Egg Boi #2 whooped and clapped his hands. "Boss Man says he hates it, but he likes being told what to do!"

"She steps on him allll the time," grumbled Egg Boi #3. "Usually in their bedroom, when they think no-one's lookin'. Why can't she step on meeee?"

Sir Pentious growled and drew a ray pistol. A hissing stream of crimson energy lanced out and disintegrated the offending eggs in an instant. Sir Pentious holstered his weapon and crossed his arms. "Our working relationship issss none of your business, whore!"

Cherri gestured indecisively. "It's… complicated."

"Alright, alright, forget I asked!" Angel said, taking a gulp of his Dirty Shirley. "S'like walkin' in on your parents fuckin'."

"Where's Mr. Husk?" Moonchild looked around, but almost everyone else in the establishment was at least a foot taller than him. "Angel?"

"Aight," said Angel standing up to look. "Nah, can't see 'im. Hold on."

Angel crouched down and leapt high into the air, at least thirty feet. He set back down with a surprising grace, the expression on his face annoyed. "The alky pissant's at a poker table. Dumbass is gonna piss away all our winnin's!"

"I'll go get him!" Moonchild said. "Back in a sec!"

Moonchild got up and took off into the crowd. About ten seconds later he ran back to the table. "Which poker table?"

"Seven."

"Thanks!"

They watched him leave, an unmistakable leer on Angel's face. "Hate t'see 'im leave…"

"Loooove watchin' him go," Cherri chuckled. "That get-up, that was you?"

"You know it sister!"

"That wasss a guy?!"

* * *

Husk sipped his scotch and glared at the demon sitting opposite him, shuffling a deck of cards.

Poker Face noticed and grinned. "Surprised to see me?"

"Not really," Husk said, knocking back his scotch in one gulp. "Wouldn't be the first time a turd resurfaced after a flush."

Poker Face threw his head back and laughed. "You always were a smartass, Husk. I like that about you."

"I'm touched," said Husk, waving down a waiter. "What's your most expensive scotch?"

"That would be the Bunnahabhain 25 Year, sir. One hundred souls an ounce."

"Double shot'a of the Bunny-hazbin," Husk said, looking over to Poker Face. "You got the tab, right?"

Poker Face smirked and nodded. "Indulge yourself, my friend."

The waiter left and Husk wove his fingers together atop the table. "So, what, you out for revenge?"

"You fed me to a goat and I had to get pulled out of sewage," Poker Face growled. "What do you think?"

"Here? Now?" Husk said, pointing at the ceiling, at the security cameras scanning from their black spheres. "Try anything that disrupts the flow of money, and yer out on yer ear."

"No no no, my friend," Poker Face leaned forward, for a moment allowing the black, bottomless hate within him shine through his affable facade. "I've got something special planned for you. When the time comes, I gonna enjoy myself, make an event of it. We're not through, you and I, not by a sight."

Husk rolled his eyes, this wasn't the first 'nemesis spiel' he'd heard. "So, why call me over? Why cover my tab?"

"I'm being coy," said Poker Face, setting his deck down. "Also, believe it or not, I actually like playing against you. Not often I meet a fellow cardshark."

"I'm flattered."

"Yeah, don't be. So, how about a friendly game?"

Husk sneered, he knew this guy's rules, how his powers worked; the default prize was souls, so establishing the stakes clearly was vital. "What's the prize?"

Poker Face rolled his eyes. "I don't want your pickled soul, if that's what you're worried about. Not yet, anyway."

"Then what do you want?"

"Not your soul, maybe money, maybe something else." Poker Face, rolling one of the soul chips on his fingers. "What do you say?"

Part of Husk screamed at him not to go for it, that he was up to something, that this was a stupid unnecessary risk. But another, loathsomely familiar part of himself relished the risk, the challenge, craved it, even. All night he'd been pretending to play to make money, and he'd be lying if he said it hadn't whet his appetite for the real deal, for the rush of a clean win. And what better rush that the heady threat of mortal danger? The need roared at him from the bottom of his soul, silencing any attempt at dissuasion.

"Well…" Husk said, licking his lips, a nasty grin spreading across his face. "Let's–"

"Mr. Husk!" A familiar voice called out over the din of the casino. "Mr. Husk!"

They both turned to see Moonchild running over. Husk was snapped out of his focus upon seeing the fish-demon, his incumbent gambler's high doused as though with ice-water. What the fuck was he doing?! Playing against Poker Face was a shit idea at the best of times, but doing so while he was currently trying to scam the casino out of a fortune? He was already in enough danger, thank you very much!

"Moonie?"

"Angel and I were waiting for you," he said, looking over at Poker Face. "Is this guy a friend of yours?"

Poker Face looked Moonchild up and down, a leering smile spreading across his face, biting his lip as he drank him in. "Oh, yeah. I'm _real_ friendly. Say, cutie, wanna play a game?"

"Moonie–!" Husk exclaimed.

"Sure!" Moonchild said, smiling.

He pulled out a poker chip, showing both sides. "Heads… tails. Guess right, that's fifty bucks. Guess wrong, well, I win. Sound good?"

"Sounds great!"

He flipped the chip and caught it, slamming his hand down on the table. "Call it."

"Moonchild, don't–"

"Tails!"

Poker Face smirked and removed his hand: tails. "Lucky guess. Best two out of three?"

"Sure!"

He flipped again, and again Moonchild said: "Tails!"

"Huh. Tails…" Poker Face eyed up the pretty little demon. "How about a different game?"

"Okay!" Moonchild chirped.

Three cards were set down, an ace of hearts, and ace of clubs, and an ace of spades. "Keep your eye on the ace of spades."

Poker Face flipped all three and shifted the cards about, over, under, over, side to side, middle out, right to left. "Where's the ace, doll?"

"Here." Moonchild flicked over the middle card, revealing the ace of spades.

"I can see how you got up here, Husk," Poker Face snarled. "Got yourself a good luck charm. Again!"

"Okay!"

"Ace of hearts!" Poker Face's hands were a blur, the cards danced across the green felt, ducking under one another before shifting and hopping, exchanging places. "Where is it!?"

Moonchild flicked the card on the right over. "Right here."

Husk clapped his hand over his mouth as he bit back a laugh, the look on Poker Face's mug was something he wished he could bottle.

Poker Face growled and jabbed a finger at Moonchild. "One more time! All or nothing!"

"Okay!" Moonchild said, a sweet smile on his face, seemingly unaware of his opponent's rancor.

Once again the cards were a blur of movement, Poker Face's considerable dexterity on full display as he kept all three moving simultaneously. With a flourish he slammed his hand down on the table, grinning maliciously. "Ace of hearts!"

"Waitaminute!" Husk cried. "You can't shift the cards and _then_ tell him to call!"

"Oh, yes I can," Poker Face sneered, pointing at Moonchild. "Now, make your call. Where is it?"

Moonchild studied the cards, head cocked to the side. "Hmmm…"

Poker Face smirked and held out his hand, eyes glinting. "Call or forfeit, kid. What'll it be?"

Moonchild sighed and reached for the extended hand, Poker Face's smirk blossoming into a black grin. "Awww shucks, too bad, huh?"

Moonchild's hand brushed by his and reached up his sleeve, pulling out an ace of hearts. "Oh? How'd this get in there?"

Poker Face gawped as he set the card down and flipped the other three, revealing the ace of clubs had been doubled. "How…?"

Husk drew in behind Moonchild, draping an arm over his shoulders, drawing the scantily-clad demon close. "Sorry, 'Face, I done forgot to introduce Moonchild. My, uh, my apprentice! Yeah, that's it."

"Your what?" Poker Face spat.

Husk nodded pointing to Moonchild and then himself. "Taught 'im everythin' I know. A mechanic the likes a ya couldn't hope to pull one over on us, right kid?"

"That's right!" Moonchild said, forcefully, snapping his fingers. "We're just too good!"

He reached out behind himself, not taking his eyes off Poker Face, and snatched a tumbler glass off the tray of the approaching waiter, knocking back the expensive contents in a single gulp. Husk barely kept it together as Moonchild was clearly struggling with the alcohol burn of what he suspected was his double-scotch, the little demon put up a stoic face regardless.

Poker Face glowered at them for a moment before what might have been a friendly smile spread across his mug, the warmth of the grin offset somewhat by the icy hatred radiating out of his beady lizard eyes. He threw his hands up and stood. "Two Husks! Hell isn't ready. Oh, well, I know when I'm beat! Look, you two crazy kids have yourself a wonderful night, I'll show myself out."

Poker Face got to his feet and offered his hand. "Put 'er there."

Husk eyed his hand for a moment before taking it. Poker Face grasped his hand with an amicable pressure, his eyes glinting like bits of broken glass. Suddenly, he reached out with his other hand, grabbing Husk by the shoulder and pulling him in, his mouth right next to his ear, his voice a hissing whisper. "This isn't over, Husk. You and me, we have unfinished business. But for now, live it up, enjoy yourself, because sooner or later it's all gonna come crashing down. For you, for the Princess, for everyone in this God-forsaken pit. _HOLY DIVER lives._ "

With that he stepped back and clapped his hands, snapping his fingers at them, winking. "Hey, you have fun now, that's what games are all about! Don't you worry, Husk, I still got your tab! Eat, drink, and be merry, because you never know what tomorrow holds! Carpe that diem! And you, prettyboy, I'd love to play you again. 'Till then!"

With that Poker Face swaggered away, scooping up the souls and chips he'd won prior, eventually disappearing into the crowd.

"I never got an answer," Moonchild said. "Was he a friend of yours or not?"

When he didn't answer, Moonchild turned around. "Mr. Husk?"

Husk stared straight ahead, his eyes wide, ears flattened against his skull, the look on his face was that of a man who'd seen his own grave.

Moonchild reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Husk, what's wrong?"

Husk blinked and shook his head, brusquely brushing his hand off and grabbing the tray with their drinks. "N-nothin'! I'm fine! C'mon, let's go find Angel."

"O-okay…" Moonchild said, quietly, following after.

Husk sighed and turned around, putting a hand on Moonchild's shoulder. "Ya did good just now, kid. Good on ya, not everyone can get under Poker Face's skin like that. Ya got that trick ya do, but it was the way ya sold it that threw him off. Good work, I mean it."

Moonchild beamed, a rosy flush burning in his cheeks, his golden freckles glittering in the casino lights. "Thank you, Mr. Husk. I means a lot coming from someone like you."

Despite himself, Husk smiled back, a strange giddy feeling bubbled up inside him, just seeing this kid happy brought out in him feelings he'd long since thought dead. He laughed and cast an arm and a wing around Moonchild's shoulders, pulling him close. "C'mon, we've left Angel alone for way too long. Who knows what kinda bullshit he's getting up to!"

Moonchild took two steps forward before toppling over, landing face-first on the floor.

"Kid!" Husk exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

"Misser Husk wais th'room schpinnin'?"

Husk thought back to the double scotch the kid had knocked back in his bravado and chuckled, shaking his head as he helped him to his feet. "Yer hammered, Cutie! Well, let's grab a room, we can keep on cleaning this bitch out tomorrow."

"I wasss wrong, Misser Husk," Moonchild slurred as Husk carried him through the casino. "Gamblin's a lotta fun!"

* * *

Angel smiled as he lay down on the plush, accommodating hotel bed. He'd wanted to keep the night going, but their ace in the hole went and drank himself into a daze. Angel didn't mind, the Azathoth had room service that was second to none in the West Side, and Husk seemed pleased as punch to allow him to indulge himself. He'd ordered a small bar's worth of booze and full catering, pouring himself a tall glass of bubbly.

"Ahhh…" Angel sighed, sipping the sparkling wine. "I could get used to this."

A snort and a gasp drew his attention over to the love-chair and the small fish-demon presently slouched in it. Husk had dragged the partially conscious trout to their table and told them he was calling it a day and that they'd resume their rampage tomorrow. Angel wasn't about to complain, he'd gotten all he'd wanted out of this little excursion. Well, almost everything.

He'd been in his element, in the spotlight, drawing eyes while his associates went on a tear across the casino floor. He basked in the attention and was now reaping the rewards of good food, soft beds, and hard alcohol. Now all he needed to cap off the night was…

"Wurrrz…" Moonchild muttered, stirring in the seat, his eyes fluttering open. "Snrk! Wha? Where… where am I?"

"Hotel," said Angel, sipping his champagne. "Well, a hotel, not _the_ Hotel. S'part a' the casino."

"Where's Mr. Husk?" Moonchild said, rubbing his temples. "Did I drink too much?"

"Ya sniffed a shot a whiskey and that was that, out like a light," said Angel, amused.

"Oh no!" Moonchild exclaimed, dismayed. "Mr. Husk wanted to play all night. I ruined everything!"

Angel made his way over and sat down next to the moping fish-demon, draping an arm over his shoulders. "Nah, kid, don't sweat it. Mittens said he had t'go dig up some contacts and ask 'em about, I 'unno, some alky bullshit, I wasn't listenin'."

"I don't feel so good…" Moonchild mumbled.

"Here," Angel said, handing him the still-full flute. "That'll ease ya up, then we gotta getcha to eat somethin'."

Moonchild sipped the bubbly, bracing for the taste of alcohol, surprised when there was none. "Oooh… I like this."

Angel watched him as he finished the sparkling wine and smiled. "Hey, kid."

"Yes?"

Angel cupped his face in his hands and leaned in, kissing him passionately. Angel smiled to himself as he felt the smaller demon go stiff with surprise, the kid probably wasn't expecting this! Angel deepened the kiss, his Hell-wide famous tongue snaking its way into his mouth, playfully tracing his sharp little piranha teeth. He waited for his skill to entice Moonchild's inner horndog out and they'd be off to the races.

And waited.

And waited.

Moonchild was still stiff with shock. Okay, so he's shy. No big surprise there. Angel would just have to bust out the big guns. One hand pulled down his top while another pair slid under Moonchild's top. Angel noted appreciatively that despite him being soft as cheese whizz, Moonchild had a nice tight swimmer's bod. The kid was no Kira, but his abs felt plenty tasty. Another hand snaked down the front of his snug Daisy Dukes, grabbing at the sizable handful there. Oh yes, this was going to be a nice cap to the night.

Angel opened his eyes to drink in the kid's no doubt dumbfounded expression, gently nibbling his lower lip. Angel's eyes snapped open in shock. Moonchild didn't look dumbfounded, he didn't look lustful, he didn't even look surprised.

Moonchild was terrified.

"Kid?" Angel withdrew, eyes darting all over the frozen fish-demon. "Moonie, are you okay?"

Moonchild blinked and averted his gaze, seeming to collapse in on himself. "I-I'm sorry, I, uh, I'm okay. Y-you can k-keep going if you want."

Angel stared for a moment, for once in his life at a loss of what to do, what to say. The look in Moonchild's eyes, that distant desperation of someone who was preparing to go away, to pull into themselves until the pain stopped. He'd seen those eyes before.

"Kid… has someone, uh… has someone been hurtin' ya?"

Moonchild said nothing, only nodding. Angel sighed and scooted away, suddenly profoundly ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry, kid. I didn't–I wasn't–I–"

"It's okay, Angel."

"No! No it ain't!" Angel exclaimed, shooting to his feet. "I was just pushing myself on ya, like I knew ya wanted it! I shoulda…"

He looked down at Moonchild, who was trying to make himself look as small as possible, eyes cast down to his feet. Angel felt something bitter and sick clench in his guts, all that fun and camaraderie, all that time spent getting the kid out of his shell, all that progress they could have gone back to Charlie with, triumphant; all that was circling the drain before his eyes, all because he wanted some dick. He felt sick, disgusted with himself.

Angel deflated and sat back down next to him, Moonchild turned away, cradling himself. "Hey. I'm sorry. I, uh… I know how it feels. T'feel like yer someone's property, like yer their _toy_. To feel so… _helpless_."

Angel's hands balled into fists, squeezing and squeezing until they trembled, a light hand settled on one of the clenched fists. Angel looked over at Moonchild, his expression distant, and then horrified.

"You do, don't you?" Moonchild said, his tone hushed.

"Ya just used yer power on me, didn't ya?"

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry!"

Angel shook his head, a sour smile on his face. "Naw, it's okay. I mean, if it's you it's okay. 'Cause, y'know what it's like…"

"You haven't told anyone?"

"Well, not like with words or nothin'. Cherri knows, or I think she does, I…" Angel shook his head, laughing bitterly. "It's not somethin' I really talk about. Fuck, I try not to think about it."

"Me too…" Moonchild said, his voice barely a whisper. "I wish I was like you."

Angel started at this, a bemused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Waddaya mean?"

"You've been through what I've been through, worse even, but you're still so… strong. Confident. You can still smile and tell people to fuck off and–and–" Tears, dark and gummy with mascara, rolled down his cheeks. "I wish I could be anyone other than me…"

"Hey, now put that shit t'bed, Moonie! This ain't a game, there ain't no points or scorecard. What I went through don't make what happened to ya any less bullshit!" Angel said, jabbing a finger in his face. "None a'this is yer fault, y'hear? Ya didn't do nothin' to deserve what that shitheel did to ya! It ain't yer fault!"

Moonchild buried his face in his hands and began to sob. Angel wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, Moonchild buried his face in Angel's chest fluff, his sobs choked and ragged. Angel stroked his neck, soothing him as he tightened the embrace. After a while, his sobs tapered off and he was quiet, his face still buried in Angel's soft, warm chest. Angel was dimly aware that the kid's mascara was probably staining his fur and dress, but didn't care.

"Yer okay, kid, yer okay…" Angel whispered. "Heh… Y'know, I ain't as confident as I let on. I just put up a front so, uh, so I won't get hurt, y'know?"

Moonchild said nothing, Angel continued. "Yeah. See, I don't got many friends… just Cherri, now, really. I keep people away because I think they all want that. Not Cherri, and not… him."

"Him?" Moonchild said, looking up from his chest.

"Kira, the other guy at the hotel," Angel said, his tone become low, wistful. "Cold hearted, stone-faced, no sense a'humor… but, we clicked. He didn't want anythin' I was sellin', but he still wanted to be around me. At first I couldn't really make sense of it, I don't think he understood it either, but there it was. But he's gone now, he got out, and I, uh, I gotta too, I guess. Gotta get out and find my buddy."

"I know you will," Moonchild said, sniffling.

"Thanks kid." Angel nocked a finger under his chin and tilted his gaze up to meet his. "Y'know, it don't gotta be like that. Bein' with someone. It can be a great time if'n yer with someone ya like and if they like ya back."

"You like me?" Moonchild smiled, it was soft and sweet and made Angel's chest feel like it was about to burst.

"What can I say?" Angel chuckled, pinching his mascara-streak cheeks. "Ya done grew on me, ya little barnacle!"

He leaned down and planted a tender kiss on Moonchild's lips, smiling when the smaller demon reciprocated. His hands gently explored Moonchild's frame as he slowly deepened the kiss, prepared to stop at the first sign of hesitation. He broke the kiss and drank in Moonchild's expression, an adorably shy variant of lust he'd never seen before; a nice cap to the evening to be sure.

"Yer in control here, Moonie," Angel whispered. "This stops when ya say stop."

Moonchild nodded and leaned in, their lips almost touching again when a knock sounded at the door.

Angel swore under his breath and smiled apologetically at Moonchild. "That'd be the room service. Hold that thought, will ya? I'll be right back~"

Moonchild blushed and nodded, Angel stood up and sauntered over to the door, not a thing in the world could spoil this night. He opened the door, expecting to see a sharply dressed hotel-worker with a meal cart. Instead, the doorway was filled with the massive, muscular frame of a very familiar minotaur, and behind him were five other hulking demons of various types.

"Oh, uh, hey Bastille," Angel squeaked, his eyes wide. "How're ya holdin' up?"

A huge hand snapped out and fastened around Angel's windpipe, hauling him bodily into the air.

"Oh, nice," Angel croaked, pawing uselessly at his massively muscled arm. "Yer arm's back. Great."

The six demons showed themselves in, the door slamming shut behind them, a 'do not disturb' sign dangling from the knob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember him? Pepperidge Farm remembers.


	10. Enantiodromia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:
> 
> V I O L E N C E

Chapter 10: Enantiodromia

The bell on the office door jingled as it swung open and shut. Loona didn't bother looking up, internally bracing for an onslaught of dumbass noise the Dipshit Duet was about throw her way. Blitzo really hadn't done her any favors by flaking on this mission.

Whatever.

She thumbed through her contacts, her newest posts to instagram were blowing up, as usual, and she had a duty to like all the comments by the usual suspects, maybe string some simps along, post yet another 'fuck work' pic. Between that and her actual work, today was shaping up to be real busy.

"Excuse me," said a deep, rumbling voice above her. "Is Blitzo in?"

Loona didn't look up. "No."

There was a pause. "…Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No." Loona thumbed through one of her friend's instagram, smirking at the rather fetch creature she was grinding on at the club. 'Nice. Like. Send pix bich'

"Can you take a message?" God, this dipshit didn't let up.

"No."

A hand swung into view and a massive finger tapped the top of her phone. The plastic blanched and cracked as the screen clouded over like old glass. The phone creaked and groaned, decaying away before her very eyes. Loona growled and shot to her feet, her snarl and glare faltering as her neck craned up, and up, and up. Standing before her, stooping under the 10 foot ceiling, was Grand Duke Sallos.

"Honestly, social media has got to be one of Lucifer's more insidious creations," said Sallos. "Don't care for it, myself."

"Uh."

" ** _Do_** shut up, dear," he said, airily, setting his hands down on her desk as he leaned forward, the wood groaning under his immense weight, his aura crushing her down into her chair. "Now, listen and listen closely. Are you listening?"

Loona said nothing, her eyes like red dinnerplates as her ears laid flat, disappearing into her voluminous hair which was standing on end, the smell of ozone in the office was nauseating as the huge demon's titanic might just barely made itself known.

"I'm going to kill your dad." Sallos said, his tone chipper and amiable. "I'm going to hunt him down and kill him. But not before I torture him. He has information I need, and I'll have it. I'll strip away his mind like tearing pages from a book, and when naught but a husk remains, I'll chop off his head, put it on a spike, and deliver it to my cousin, as a…" he slapped his wrist, a light, effete movement that reported with a sound not unlike a shotgun blast. "Slap on the wrist, for allowing this farce to occur. Your co-workers, too. Perhaps I'll send all their heads, like a bouquet."

Loona said nothing, tears welling up in her eyes as he glared down at her.

He reached out and grabbed her chin, the fur and skin where he touched browned and blackened before turning grey and ashen. "I'd kill you too, if I thought you knew anything. Or if anyone important would care. But alas, blessed be the ignorant and ignominious."

He released her, her fur and skin instantly reverting to their former state.

"I want you to tell your dad, that imp. Tell him I'm coming, and soon. I want him to run, I want him to fight. So that I might yet derive some sort of pleasure from the godforsaken mission." Sallos stood up as straight as he could under the low ceiling, a placid smile on his face. "Understood?"

Loona cowered in her chair, trembling as tears spilled unbidden down her cheeks.

"Excellent." He made his way to the door. "You have a good day, now."

* * *

Husk's phone buzzed, he'd sent out feelers to all his contacts all over Hell, asking obliquely if anyone had heard anything. So far he'd gotten a lot of useless, indirect bullshit about 'trouble' and 'danger' around every corner. Yeah, no shit! This was Hell, trouble and danger were literally everywhere, more so than usual if Pokey wasn't just fucking with him.

' _HOLY DIVER lives._ ' It echoed in his head, a cold, clawing dread squeezed his insides, making his stomach roll. How? How? He saw the fucker turn to dust and disappear! He sighed and sipped his scotch, Bunnahabhain 25; it was good, no doubt, but 100 souls an ounce?

Whatever, that blustering shitheel was footing the tab.

His phone buzzed, he glanced at it, seeing 'Chuck' flash on the screen, along with a picture of Charlie in a playboy bunny get-up she'd put on for Vaggie's birthday. Husk held Charlie in a peculiar regard, he respected her resolve and overall moxxy, even if he sometimes found her as grating as chirruping sandpaper. Still, she was a fine-looking woman and he'd have been a fool not to 'document' her choice of apparel that day.

' _How's it going~?_ '

Husk grunted and sipped his scotch. ' _good_ '

' _Is Angel behaving? How's Moonie? Are you having fun?_ '

' _yes good no_ '

' _No? Why no?_ '

' _ill tell you later_ ' he paused before typing ' _you?_ '

' _Oh, we're doing fine over here. Having a girl's night! Alastor's complaining, but team-building exercises are vital for synergy._ '

Husk smiled at the idea of whatever twee bullshit Chuck was making Chuckles endure. ' _show him whos boss chuck_ '

' _I will, don't worry!_ ' There was a pause, the 'typing' logo pulsed for a few moments, as though Charlie was either penning a memoir or was typing and deleting in equal measure.

' _what is it chuck?_ '

' _Oh, just wondering if you guys will be back tonight._ '

' _no you and snatch can fuck all you like_ '

' _LOL NO HUSK_ ' Another pause, probably some flustered typing and retyping on her end before ' _Well, okay. Hope you start having fun again! See you tomorrow! BYYYYYYE~_ '

Husk smirked to himself; Chuck needed some time off from this hotel bullshit, iron out the wrinkles, get some pep in her step, so she could recharge her stock of the mildly nauseating positivity needed to run that Hotel.

Speaking of getting laid…

"Hey, barkeep!" He barked. "Lookin' for some classy hooers. Not too expensive, but clean and friendly."

"Clean _and_ friendly?" The bartender thought for a moment. "Vicky's Vixens are cheap, but they bite sometimes. Leather Mommies are real gentle as far as dominatrixes go. For a little more you can get PanHell Hooers and thumb through the catalog, find exactly what you want."

"Ayuh, lesee the PanHell one."

He produced the card and Husk scanned the barcode with his phone, automatically taking him the webste. Husk grinned, he was gonna get that poor kid some proper tail, the kind that didn't leave bruises and claw marks, therapeutic-like; and if he got a little trim while doing his job as a Hazbin, all the better. He made his orders and gave his info, room number, the whole nine. Hot'n'Fresh in 30 minutes or less!

Husk ordered a bottle-service of the Bunnahabhain 25 and set off for the hotel, tipping generously. He'd managed to pull down twenty or so grand while waiting for his sources to get back to him, so he was in a position to be generous. That's what he loved about Level Six at the Azathoth, it was piss-easy to snowball some cocky dipshits for a deep pot if you knew how to pick your marks. Dropping 60k tomorrow on a good hand with a boon like Moonchild on his lap could see double, maybe triple returns. He smiled; get the kid laid, make some money, maybe get him laid again, make even more money, a day or so here and he'd be a whole different kettle of fish.

He could get used to this whole 'rehab' thing.

' _And to think,_ ' he thought to himself. ' _Ya almost blew it on a game with that scaly, soul-stealing asshole._ '

It was true, his need had almost tanked a sure thing. Losing out on an honest roll was one thing, but intentionally pissing away a guaranteed money-maker? Thank God Moonchild had shown up when he did. He owed the little guy, and Husk might be a drunk and a card-junky, but he always paid his debts.

He strolled down the hallway of the in-house hotel, something cold raced up his spine as he drew near their suite: something was wrong. There was a smell in the air, dense, acrid, kinda musky. Fear? Adrenaline? Lust? It was hard to tell at a distance, but it was definitely pouring out of their room in waves. One or more persons in there were het-up about something.

At that moment Husk recalled he'd left Moonchild in there alone with Angel Dust. "Oh, for fuck's sake…"

Husk swatted the 'do not disturb' sign off the handle and keyed in. Stupid! Stupid! That spider was about as subtle and delicate as a vodka enema, and he very much doubted the whore took rejection well. Demure little Moonchild didn't stand a chance!

"Angel, you better not be–"

Five thugs turned their heads, two of them were restraining a terrified Angel and Moonchild, low, hateful grins on their faces. Husk, had he been sober, would have been able to draw his deadly cards faster. A huge, clawed hand took his wrist in a crushing grip, the much larger demon effortlessly yanking his arms behind his back, his joints screaming as they were pulled just below their limits, his bones grinding together. Husk was hauled bodily off the ground, the lead thug, a rippling three-eyed minotaur reclining in a loveseat chuckled, deep and foreboding, like thunder. Husk recognized him: Bastille, one of the former top-dog dope-slingers in West-Central.

"Ah, shame," Bastille rumbled, dragging on a robusto, his words as thick and greasy as the smoke pouring from his nostrils. "Was hoping for another hottie. Ah well, we'll just have to make do with these fine cuts, won't we boys?"

"The fuck is goin' on?!" Husk growled as the scaly monstrosity holding him kicked the door shut and walked over to the rest of them.

Bastille pulled the cigar from between his lips and shrugged. "Oh? Isn't it obvious? My boys and I are going to kill the three of you, but not before we paint the inside of this room with your innards. Revenge, you boozy fuck. This is about revenge."

"Revenge?" Angel spat. "For what?!"

"For what?" Bastille growled, rising out of the loveseat. "For what?! For you turning me down, for you getting your fucking psycho pal to blast parts out of me, for making me crawl, bleeding and sobbing and begging for my life in front of five hundred strung-out ravers! _They streamed it!_ That's what for!"

"Okay, when ya put it like that…"

"You know what they're saying in the West-Central about the vending-machine blow?" Bastille said, brandishing his newly-regenerated arm. "They're saying _'that shit ain't worth a handshake from Bastille_ '! While I was laid up, my turf got sliced up by vultures and pigs, I lost the rights to _A Star's Platinum_! Because of you, I'm a fucking joke! A wash-up! A has-been! So now, I'm gonna cut what I'm due out of that cock-slot you call a body, Angelcakes. Hell, if I don't get too carried away, I just might be able to sell the pieces back to Valentino!"

Angel's eyes snapped open wide, a rictus of terror on his face. "No… _No!_ I won't! Ya can't make me, ya fuckin'–! Lemme go!"

"Let's have some fun first, yeah?" Bastille said, taking Moonchild from one of his men. "Alla you, on him. Have fun, boys, you'd have to pay out the nose for ass this fine anywhere else."

Two of the thugs chucked, each grabbing an arm in each hand. Angel hissed, extruding his extra set, summoning a pair of Tommy guns. The submachineguns roared, spraying bullets all around, punching a trail of holes in the walls and ceiling. The two demons ducks out of the way, another one swooping in and grabbing the third pair of arms, twisting the weapons out of his grasp. Angel growled and kicked a powerful leg up in between the demon's spread legs. With a wheeze and a groan, he tottered away, his hands jammed into his groin. Angel moved to summon another set of weapons when the fourth thug swept in from the side, his melon-sized fist smashing into Angel's gut, knocking the wind out of him.

"He's tougher than he looks," muttered the demon restraining Husk.

"You have a right keen eye to see that, Bixi," Bastille growled, grabbing both of Husk's wrists, holding them fast. "Go help!"

Bixi nodded and rushed over as another kick sent a burly demon tumbling backwards. A solid two minutes of struggle and Angel was finally restrained, with two burly, slightly battered demons a side, holding all his various limbs in place, his legs spread wide. The fifth goon, a robust demonic panther with ram horns, panted with exertion, a look of murder in his eyes.

"Fuckin' bitch," he hissed.

"More'n y'can handle, pencil-dick!" Angel sneered.

"We'll see about that," he said, looking over to Bastille. "Right, boss?"

"Have fun, all of you," Bastille said, looking down at the sobbing fish-demon pinned helplessly under his massive arm, reaching up and grabbing his chin so he couldn't look away, but his eyes were squeezed shut. "Hey, there, prettyboy. No, no, don't cry. They won't hurt you. Ha ha ha! Fine slice of ahi like you? Nah. _You're all mine._ "

"Moonie…" Husk looked over at Moonchild, desperation in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Moonchild opened his eyes and looked at him.

They were green.

* * *

Bastille chuckled, drinking in the look of rage on Angel's face, how expertly it masked his terror, his humiliation, his dread. At that moment, he decided he'd keep the whore in enough pieces to send back to his infamous former pimp. Val had been in a particularly horrid mood recently, and was no doubt looking for a good piece of ass to vent on. Favor with the head of the VVV Overlords was no small step on the road of his return to form.

The little fish-demon wriggled in his grasp.

"Try not to mess up the face too much," Bastille called as one of his men wound up a fist. "Val likes his meat pretty. So–"

–Angel Dust's head hung limply, blood dripping from a split lip, his expression dazed. Bastille blinked in confusion, something was… off. It took him a moment to realize that the perspective was different, lower. Was he sitting down? When did that happen? He didn't have that much to drink.

A low, horrified scream drew his attention to his left. It was the sour-faced sphinx, somehow on the other side of the room amidst debris, like he'd been thrown with great force. In his lap was the cause of his shock and horror: a meaty, severed forearm, a stark white protrusion of bone, an elbow joint, stood out amongst a red tatters of shredded flesh.

"Hey!" Bastille said, pointing his stump at the panicking former-hostage. "What–"

He looked down at the stump of his upper-arm. "What?"

He looked over at his other hostage, finding only another stump. He looked down, both his legs simply ended above the knees, he was standing on the splinters of his femurs in an expanding pool of his own blood.

"Uh…?"

* * *

"That took the fight outta him!" A goon restraining his right leg, a minotaur like Bastille, said. "Hit him again!"

"Where's that smart mouth now, huh?" The horned panther growled, grabbing Angel's neck, forcing his dazed eyes to focus. "Unless you want me to crank you again, you'll do the smart thing and open that smart mouth."

Angel glared and spat a wad of magenta blood, splattering it across the goon's face.

["You fuckingGGGLLRRK!"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8uTG0uyjZQ)

A low, meaty crunch sounded, a torrent of red blood drowned the demon's fury, spraying from his mouth and splashing across Angel's chest. A huge, pale hand reached up and grabbed his shoulder, the low, wet sounds of flesh and gristle tearing sounded from deep within the panther-demon's chest, the base of his neck bulging from within. Long, taloned fingers burst from his neck, tearing upwards and grasping the base of his head like a chalice. With a jerk and a loathsome snap, his head was ripped from his shoulders.

The shape, a huge, red, scaly mass, rose up behind the twitching corpse in its grasp, its head stooped under the ceiling. A wild thicket of writhing pink tentacles spilled over its face, from which only its wide, glowing green eyes and maw filled with shark's teeth visible. A flick of its wrist sent the caprine-horned panther-head streaking through the air, the sound barrier shattering with a cannon report. The solid mass of horn and bone smashed into the upper body of the furthest demon on the right, obliterating it utterly in a squall of gore and limbs.

The nearest thug released Angel's leg and stepped back, turning to flee. "What the–"

"–fuck," his head mumbled as it landed in the arms of Bixi, the decapitated body running mindlessly into the far wall, collapsing a moment later.

"JESUS FUCK!" Bixxi cried, tossing the head and bolting for the door.

The minotaur thug had managed to slip away and collect one of the dropped Tommy guns, opening fire, full auto. "Motherfuck–"

–The Tommy gun clicked, empty, a drawer at the far end of the room a splintered shambles. "–er… wha–"

A massive fist came smashing down from behind, his head crumpling like a melon as it disappeared into his chest cavity, his horns jutting out of the crater between his shoulders like pincers.

Bixi grabbed the door handle and stopped dead, the hot, rancid breath of the monster lapping at his neck like a tongue. He slowly turned around, his nose curling at the rotten sea-smell, the reek of blood, of voided bowel and splattered brains. It towered over him, thoughtless eyes glowing like doomed, demonic lighthouses, gushes of spray and foam spraying from between its serrated teeth with each low, dirge-like exhalation.

"H-hey man…" Bixi stammered, his hands raised. "I quit! I'm out! Bastille ain't paying me enough for this shit! Just-just lemme go and you'll never see me again! We're cool, yeah?"

It stared at him, massive, muscular shoulders heaving, a low purring growl working its way into its breathing.

"P-please…" He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable disemboweling.

And waited.

He opened his eyes, it was gone. He looked out at the mangled, unrecognizable remains of his compatriots strewn across the blood-splattered interior of the suite. He breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the door, a smile creeping across his face. He looked over at the cowering spider demon and sphinx, their eyes as wide as dinnerplates.

"H-hey!" Bixi cackled hysterically, his eyes harrowed. "I-I think it's gone!"

Wood splintered, flesh ripped, and bones snapped. Bright green blood bubbled up out of Bixi's mouth as the tearing and snapping persisted, growing louder. He got over the shock and found his voice as a shrill, barking scream escaped his lips. Ten digits erupted from his chest, curling outwards, grasping and pushing away from each other. Bixi's scream reached a horrid pitch before his body was pushed past its limit, tearing in half lengthwise from the shoulder to the hip as the sea-demon smashed through the door, utterly destroying the frame and wall.

It loomed over its kill, head cocked to the side as Bixi's mouth worked wordlessly, eyes dead. With a roar it brought its foot down, pulverizing his head under its heel.

"M-Moonie?"

Its head snapped up at the sound.

"Oh…" Husk whimpered as the towering beast tromped over, heedlessly crushing the splattered remains of the goons. "Fuck."

"H-hey, Moonie, c'mon!" Angel stammered, subtly pushing Husk out in front of him. "It's me, Angel! And Mr. Husk! Remember us? Moonie?"

"That ain't Moonie," Husk said out the corner of his mouth, not wanting to provoke it with loud noises.

"Waddaya mean?" Angel hissed as the two of them backed up with each step it took. "Lookit the hair! The coloring! That's Moonie!"

"No, it ain't," Husk said as they were inevitably backed up against the wall. "Meet Diavolo."

"Devil? That's lame."

Diavolo growled as he loomed over them, those crushing, tearing talons flexing as he slowly reached for them.

A warbling shriek split the air as the floor beneath their feet flashed purple. Husk and Angel cried out as they phased through the floor, landing painfully on the floor of the room below, Angel collapsing on Husk in a heap.

"Angel?!" Cherri Bomb exclaimed, helping him up off the floor, checking him over, fretting over the blood and his split lip. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, hey, I'm fine, thanks!" Husk growled from under the spider.

Sir Pentious holstered his phase-inducer and drew his proton-gun. "Sssorry for the tardiness, it took a moment to calibrate the phase-inducer for plywood and plassster."

"Yeah, no one cares," said Cherri, hands on her hips. "We saw Bastille and his boys spot you earlier, decided to rent out the room under yours, just in case." She looked around. "Where's the fishboy?"

A hair raising bellow shook the hotel walls, dust fell from the ceiling.

"He'll be right in," Angel said, his tone hushed and horrified. "Ey Penny, we'll be wantin' yer portal gun at the ready."

"It'sss not a portal gun!" Sir Pentious hissed. "It's a matter phassse inducer that shifts the quantum ssstate of–"

The ceiling burst inward in a shower of splinters and pulverized plaster, a massive form crashing down into the room.

"Who–"

"RUN!" Husk screamed, grabbing the phase-inducer and firing it at the wall. "RUN, DAMMIT, RUN!"

The phase-inducer thrummed and the wall flashed purple. The quartet bolted for the opening, hopping into the next room. The hulking figure rose from the debris, its eyes hellish lanterns shining through the plaster dust, watching them. No. Watching him. Husk pressed the trigger again and the wall returned to normal. Wasting no time, he took aim at the opposite wall.

"What the fuck?!" The room's occupant sputtered, the prostitute next to him didn't even look up from her phone; he jumped from bed and marched over to the intruders. "Get the fuck out of here!"

Without a word they ran out through the altered matter, the wall returning to normal a second later.

"Yeah, you better run!" He called after them, puffing out his chest. "See that, babe? Sent those bitches pack–"

The wall burst outward in an explosion of sound and splinters, a huge red blur rushed by, a careless swing of an arm as he passed caught the occupant across the back of the head, obliterating everything above his lower jaw. The prostitute screamed and scurried off the bed, peering over it to see a gaping hole in the opposite wall. She walked over to the twitching, mostly-headless body on the floor, rifling through his pockets for his phone and wallet.

"What the fuck is that thing?!" Cherri cried as they ran through another room, shoving a demon out of her way.

"That was Moonie," Angel said, hopping over a loveseat and through a phased wall. "Kid's got issues."

"I'll sssay!" Pentious hissed, beginning to pant.

"Why's he after us?" Cherri said, absentmindedly throwing down trip-wire bombs.

"Because we know who he is!" Husk said, firing the phase-inducer again. "This other side to him, he's a fucking lunatic who'll kill anyone who knows anything about him!"

"You knew about this, Husk?!" Angel exclaimed. "Ya knew the kid was nuts and ya took him along anyway?!"

A series of detonations sounded through the walls, but the ongoing charge of their pursuer continued regardless.

"He ain't nuts!" Husk growled. "He's mentally ill! There's a difference!"

"Do we have any sssort of plan outside of running like lemmingsss?!" Sir Pentious said, whipping out his ray-gun and disintegrating an occupant in his path.

"Not getting pulverized is a good plan!" Angel said, hearing the encroaching crashes of their pursuer through the walls. "The best plan!"

"It is, but I got another," Husk said, smiling. "Now, if I recall correctly…"

The next wall they walked through deposited them into an austere, dimly lit room festoon with shelves and locked cubbies, the walls were dull steel and exposed wiring.

"Where are we?" Cherri said, looking around.

"One of the Sixth Level's safes," said Husk, panting lightly. "Steel walls a foot thick."

"Ya think that'll keep him out?"

"Nah," Husk said, pointing at the still-phased wall. "He'll get in easy."

"What are you doing?!" Sir Pentious screamed. "Un-phase the wall! He'sss coming!"

"What the fuck is this shit?" One of the occupants said, staring that the shimmering, translucent wall. "Like a magic trick or something?"

"I'd move if I was ya," said Angel as he stood off to the side, beckoning Pentious and Cherri to follow him.

"What? Wh–?"

The wall bowed out in a shockwave, like a bubble it expanded outwards before popping into a storm of pulverized wood and plaster. The occupant didn't so much as bounce off the rampaging sea-demon as he _splashed_ off him, his pulped remains sliding off his red, glittering scales as he ran through the room. Diavolo roared as he streaked through the phased wall, smashing into the opposite side of the room with titanic force, the cubbies crumpling and bursting in a cloud of bills and coins. Husk and the rest of them pressed themselves into the far corner of the safe, he deactivated the phase-inducer, returning the wall to its former impenetrable state.

"Husk…" Angel said, quietly, as Husk fiddled with the aperture dial.

Diavolo's head snapped over to them, his eyes glowing circles of green peering out from a tangle of writhing tentacles, his white teeth catching the dull light of the single bulb overhead. He slowly made his way over to them, his body smeared with a dingy spectrum of demon blood, shredded viscera hanging off him in dangling tatters. He menaced the cowering quartet, a low, raspy growl building in his chest.

"Husk!" Angel said, more urgently.

"Sorry kid," Husk said, leveling the phase-inducer at him. "You need a time-out."

He pointed it at the floor and fired just as Diavolo lunged forward. The four of them slid through the floor before returning it to normal, now high over the packed casino floor of the Fifth Level. Husk strained with effort as his wings flapped, the other three hanging off him as he slowed their descent. Husk sputtered and panted, his wing-beats becoming shaky and strained as he struggled over to one of the huge, tacky chandeliers hanging high over the throng of gamblers below. With a final effort he hauled them over it and collapsed, the four of them set down safely into the garish platform.

Husk panted raggedly face down as the others took stock of themselves, astonished they were whole.

"Quick thinkin', Mittens!" Angel said, pulling Husk into a tight hug, peppering him with kisses.

"Yeah, I just hope that the kid _can_ calm down," Husk said, too tired to get Angel to stop kissing him. "You know, Chuck made that guy sound a lot more, uh, eloquent. That thing up there just seems…"

"Feral. He's rocking out in his unleashed form, maybe that's why?" opined Cherri, looking over at Pentious, who was examining a gadget with a screen. "Noodle, you okay?"

"Yesss," he said, not looking up from the contraption. "Now that we're sssafe, I thought I'd ask. Did any of you notice sssomething odd before we ressscued you from Bastille?"

"Bastille wasn't much of a problem when yous guys rescued us," Angel said, smiling sardonically. "Bein' a housekeeper in Hell is bad enough, that mess up there will take a year ta scrub out!"

"Anssswer the question!" Pentious said, pointing the screen. "My multi-spectral scanotron's detected a series of dissstortions in rapid sssuccession!"

Husk though for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Oh! Diavolo! When he was smearing those mooks, he did this, like, teleportin' trick."

Angel's eyes snapped open, his face blanching. "Husk…"

"I don't think it wasss 'teleporting'," said Pentious, showing them the screen. "My chronometrotron detected a ssseries of lapses in all scans for ssstretches of time as long as three seconds!"

"Husk."

Cherri crossed her arms, her single eyebrow arched and questioning. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, that on four ssseparate occurrences, the positronic brain in my ssscanner didn't register any input. Which is impossible unless sssomething erased that data!"

"Husk!"

"What?!" Husk barked, turning to Angel. "The Snake's on about something important!"

"Remember when he tore that chump in half like a phonebook?" Angel said, his voice flat and terrified. "How'd he get outside the room?"

Husk opened his mouth to dismiss him, his eyes snapping open wide as both their gazes shifted up to the ceiling. "…Oh, fuck."

"What are you guys talking about?" Cherri said, reaching out to Angel–

–Her hand grasping his shoulder.

"There it isss again!" Sir Pentious said, excitedly. "What is that?"

A thunderous crash split the air, the alarmed screams of patrons below. The four of them inched over to the side of the chandelier, peering over the side. Standing in the middle of a shattered roulette table was Diavolo, the slowly spinning wheel clicked and clacked as the marble landed on 00.

"Hey!" Exclaimed one of the patrons around the rubble. "I won!"

A pale hand the size of a platter smashed down on the speaker, his entire body telescoping like an accordion before bursting open. A demoness screamed as bloody mist splattered on her face, which was ripped from her skull with a swipe, sending her body cartwheeling through the air. Diavolo reared up and bellowed before diving into the tightly packed crowd.

"Holy shit!" Cherri said, even her iron stomach lurching at the sight. "He's fucking _swimming_ through those people!"

A lithe, willowy arm flew up past them, Angel reached out and grabbed it, pulling off the diamond-studded gold bracelet and stuffing it into his pocket before tossing the arm back.

Bodies and body-parts were cast all around, an imp caught a glancing blow and hurtled into a pillar at speed, splattering in half. A large draconian demon waded through the panicking masses fleeing the rampaging devil, a low, orange light glowing out between the scales of his chest as he inhale, small tongues of flame lapping out between his fangs.

"Dracarys!"

His mouth split open and a torrent of flame issued forth, engulfing a score of fancy demons, reducing them to ash, the sea-monster looked up from the demon pulp in its hands and–

–The pillar of flame hit the open bar. Much of the cheaper alcohol available on the Fifth Level were technically fuel-grade and the oblong establishment disappeared in a fiery explosion. Dozens of demons danced about it, wreathed in a second skin of flame.

Pentious' scanotron trilled once again. "Fascinating!"

The dragon blinked in surprise, a wave of flame still issuing from his maw. A pair of huge arms shot out from behind him, smashing together over his snout with a bony crunch, quashing the stream of hellfire. The dragon-demon writhed and clawed at the hands crushing his snout shut, his chest expanding as small jets of flame flashed out between the scales, the light within him getting brighter and brighter. Diavolo growled and hurled the glowing dragon at the clump of demons futility crowded around the doors. Dozens were reduced to ash by the ensuing explosion, scores more set aflame or pulverized.

"How doesss that work?"

"Hmmm…" Angel tapped his chin, deep in thought.

"Here comes casino security!" Husk exclaimed, pointing.

Around two dozen guards armed with machine guns barged onto the game floor, immediately identifying the cause of the commotion. Diavolo growled and marched towards the new threat, casually decapitating a half-dozen sinners, imps, and hellhounds in his way with a backhanded swipe. The guards leveled their heavy bore weapons and opened fire–

–torn to pieces as a fusillade of heavy weapons fire ripped into the panicked crowd. The guards started, confused at the sudden lapse. A paint-peeling roar from behind caused them to spin around. A flurry of fists and talons sent heads and limbs flying as intestines and viscera splattered on the ground. A guard was hurled bodily through the air at bullet speeds, catching a cluster of them lengthwise, eight guards were reduced to a smear of limbs and blood across the gaming floor. A bisected guard crawled away, weeping and begging when a foot smashed down on his head, his helmet crunching like a beer can filled with blood.

"Angel, what the fuck?!" Husk roared. "Now?!"

Angel looked down and saw his hand between Husk's legs, firmly grasping his nondescript crotch; Angel's eyes snapped open with a revelation. "That's it! Penny!"

Pentious turned away from the carnage below. "What?"

"Time! The fucker's skippin' time!"

"What?"

"Look!" Angel said, pointing to his hand and its contents. "I figgered somethin' was up, so I told myself I was gonna grab Husk's cock in two seconds, then, when Devil-guy did his thing, there it was, without me or him knowin' it!"

"Angel, leggo of my–!"

"Listen, dipshit!" Angel growled to Husk. "Moonie's a stand-user, he can see the future or somethin', right? Well, that walkin' Cuisinart down there must be able to skip time or somethin', jump ahead a few seconds without anyone or anythin' knowin'!"

"Yes…" Pentious said, tapping away at his scanotron. "Of course! The ladyboy has precognition, he can sssee any coming danger. That beast must be able to see the future and erassse any threat to himself, leaving the consequencesss of all actions within that erased time to play out without effecting him! The ultimate defense!"

"Okay, that's…" Husk pondered this for a moment. " _Fucking broken_. That still don't explain why yer still chokin' my pud, Bug!"

Angel gave him a jaunty squeeze. "…Fancy a shag?"

Husk slapped Angel's hand away, carefully crawling closer to the edge and scanning the abattoir below. "If he had Moonie's full abilities, he'd have known exactly where we were. Luckily the fucker's outta his mind, we just might be able to get away."

The surviving guards clustered together, back to back, their eyes wide and terrified in their helmets. Diavolo inched forward, prompting them to step back in a clump. One of the guard's nerve broke, he screamed shrilly and opened fire, dumping the rest of his magazine at the crimson horror.

Diavolo, his arms an impossibly fast blur, deflected each and every bullet, sending them streaking into nearby survivors. The last bullet he cast aside with a swipe, sending it ricocheting off a guard's helmet, where it caromed off a parabolic mirror, skewing upward, towards the cable holding the chandelier to the ceiling. The four on the chandelier flinched at the high, warbling sound of a high-tension wire snapping. They looked up to see the cable, stripped and fraying as more and more cables succumbed.

"Fuck me runnin'," Husk said, hoarsely.

With a final snap, the chandelier dropped. Sir Pentious wrapped himself around Cherri and fired a grappling hook at the ceiling, arresting their plummet. Cherri reached out to grab Angel, but was too late, Husk and Angel fell away with the chandelier. The cluster of guards underneath only had time to look up and scream before over a ton of steel framing, slicing glass, and electrical cables smashed down on top of them, many hues of blood squirting out from underneath the shattered wreck.

Husk and Angel groaned and stirred, briefly taking stock of themselves.

"Huh…" Angel said, relieved. "Still in one piece."

Husk took a step back, his ears flat against his head. "Not for long…"

Towering over them was ten feet of impossible demonic might, of rage, fury, and mindless violence. Diavolo snorted and advanced on them, long, powerful fingers grasping, flexing, dripping with the blood of countless demons. He stopped just a few feet from them, his hunched shoulders thew and tense, his teeth grit together in a gnashing scowl. His hands bunched into fists, squeezing so hard his arms began to tremble.

Why? What was he waiting for?

His eyes, for the briefest instant, flashed fuchsia.

"Moonie!" Husk said, stepping forward. "Moonchild!"

Diavolo loomed over him, talons flexing as he growled like a chainsaw; Husk was undeterred. "Yeah! Can't do it, can ya, ya ugly fuck? Somethin' inside is stoppin' ya, and ya don't know what it is! Well, I'll I do! Moonchild!"

The massive demon flinched at the name, a lowing moan escaping its lips. Husk laughed and took another step forward. "He's stronger now, isn't he? Yeah, he is! Ya can't just stomp him down anymore, can ya, ya sick piece a'shit!"

Diavolo took a step back, Husk pressed his advance. "Fight him, Moonie! Ya brought him in, now send him back! Fight him!"

"Yeah, Moonchild!" Angel cheered, jumping forward. "This droolin' fuck ain't got shit on ya, kid!"

The hulking demon hissed ferociously, but ceded ground to the pair, his posture taking on a distinct cower.

"He needs ya t'be here!" Husk said, jabbing a finger at Diavolo, who drew away like a scolded dog. "Not the other way around! Y'don't need him! Ya never did!"

Diavolo roared and lunged at Husk, his murderous clawed hands suffused with unthinkable strength, ready to rip and tear.

"Ya don't need him _'cause ya got us!_ " Husk declared, smiling triumphantly as those killing hands closed in. "Now, go kick his ass."

Diavolo stopped in his tracks and yowled shrilly, hands shooting to his face as he stumbled backwards. His fingers parted to reveal another, smaller face growing out of his forehead, a familiar face.

"Ya got this kid!" Angel cheered. "Ya got 'im onna ropes!"

The face grew, pushing out of the wild bunch of tentacles, taming them, fusing them back together. Moonchild's face grew, the horror beneath him shrank, crushed down and away, its lantern eyes squeezed shut, the gnashing toothy max loosing a wheedling cry as it was shunted aside. The towering beast shrank, its bulging musculature receding, sharp, armored scales slipped back beneath the surface of smooth, rubbery skin. He doubled over, falling to his knees as his mighty frame retreated.

"Moonie?" Husk said, venturing forward. "Moonchild?"

The figure on the ground panted, his breathing ragged. "Mr. Husk… if it's all the same to you, I think I'd like to head to bed."

Husk laughed and rushed forward, grabbing the disheveled, naked demon and pulling him into a warm embrace. "Kid! Ha ha ha! I knew y'could do it!"

Angel Dust was on them in a second, laughing wildly. "Moonie, yer fulla surprises! Just, uh, don't bust that one out again anytime soon, yeah?"

"Heh heh heh…" Moonchild chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. I wouldn't want to cheapen it with… with-with–"

Moonchild doubled over and vomited, shuddering violently before breaking down into ragged sobs.

Husk pulled him close and stroked his head as he sobbed into his chest, Angel Dust drew them both into a crushing bearhug until Moonchild calmed down.

"I need a shower," Moonchild muttered.

"Ha! I think we could all use a good soak," Husk said, patting him on the shoulder. "Let's go grab our shit and bounce."

They slowly helped Moonchild to his feet, he hissed and flinched. "Ooh… I hurt all over. Feels like I went too hard at the gym…"

He noticed Husk and Angel staring at him, their eyes wide and expressions dumbfounded. "What? What is it?"

"Ya _look_ like ya went too hard at the gym," Angel said, looking him up and down.

"Moonie…" Husk whispered. "Ya changed."

"What? I…" He looked down at himself. "I'm naked."

"Nah, Moonie, look." Husk stepped closer, his eartips now barely reaching Moonchild's chin. "Ya look…"

"Hot," Angel said, grinning. "Ya done twunked out, kid!"

Moonchild looked himself over, he was taller, more muscular. He reached up and felt his face, feeling the stronger, more robust bone-structure there, even his 'hair' was different, more bangs and strands. "What…?"

"What do ya, uh," said Angel, hesitating. "Ya remember anythin', Moonie?"

He looked over at Angel, his eyes wide. "… _Everything_."

"Hey! Angel!" Cherri called from up high. "Is it safe to come down there? Is he cute again?"

* * *

They walked through the blasted hole that used to be the door to their suite, Angel winced at the stench of blood and viscera. The kid had made a right mess and no mistake.

Still, beat the alternative.

Speaking of…  
Moonchild, presently dressed in a toga made from a bedsheet and a stupid baseball cap to conceal his identity, tried his best not to look at his lesser half's handiwork, busying himself instead with collecting his few belongings. Husk rifled through the pockets of the eviscerated mooks, stuffing any bills he found in his pockets, his ear twitching as he heard a weak moan. "Uh-oh…"

"Let him handle this himself," said Cherri, grinning. "This oughta be good."

"Hey, Bastille," Angel crooned, his tone like icy daggers. "Long time no see. Funny, I remember ya bein' taller."

Bastille said nothing, whimpering as he crawled away on his ragged, bleeding stumps. Angel walked after him, his expression serene but his eyes radiated sheer, murderous hatred. After a following the amputee for a few satisfying feet, Angel kicked Bastille in the ribs, knocking him into his side. Another painful kick got him on his back.

"A-Angel! Please!" Bastille sputtered, his stumps waving in a way that would have been comical were it not so pathetic. "I-I'll never come after you again! Never! I-I learned my lesson, nobody fucks with Angel Dust, yes sir!"

Angel grinned. "Beg."

"Please! Please, don't kill me!"

Angel set a boot on his chest. "Buy."

"I-I gotta K of the good stuff, the real shit! Pure as pure gets! Sell it for a Mil or shoot it up, I don't care! Just please–"

Angel reached into his purse and leaned over, the mirror polished surface of the blade flashed in the soft light of the suite. Bastille's eyes snapped open wide as Angel drove the tip of his long, Seraphic Steel dagger deep into the minotaur's throat. Bastille coughed and struggled, gurgling as his own blood flooded his lungs, the holy metal burning away his demonic resilience with a sizzle. His movements became less and less animated until, finally his head thudded against the gore-splattered floor, his eyes flashed magenta and went dead.

Cherri cheered, clapping raucously. "Ice-fucking-cold, babe!"

"Mossst cold-blooded!" Sir Pentious said, nodding approvingly.

Angel put the dagger back into his back and ran a hand through his hair, sighing contentedly. "I calculate that's the end of our time here, eh Mittens?"

An unfamiliar voice sounded. "Ummm… hi?"

The five of them spun about, drawing whatever weapons they had to hand. The two prostitutes, a succubus and an incubus, flinched and hid behind their purses. "W-we're with PanHell Hooers, is there a Mr. Husk here?"

"Shit, right," Husk said, all that felt like an eternity ago. "Hey, uh, sorry about the, uh… mess."

"What happened here?" The incubus said, looking around the room.

"They talked shit," said Angel.

"And got hit," said Cherri, fist-bumping the spider.

"Uh, hey, here," said Husk, handing them each a pair of hundred-soul bills. "You didn't see us, yeah?"

They took the money and beat a hasty retreat.

"Well, Cherri, Penny, it was good seein' ya," said Angel, looping his arms around Husk and Moonchild's shoulders. "But I think the three'a us need ta head on back to the Hotel and have a heart attack."

"You could say that again," grumbled Husk.

"Mmh." Moonchild grunted, his eyes distant.

"Good seeing you again, Angie," said Cherri Bomb, snapping her fingers at Moonchild and winking (blinking?). "And you, Moonie, you're an interesting guy! Love your work. We gotta hang out more. Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta take this dork home and cap off the night. Come on, babe, it's 4PM!"

"What? No, it's not! It'sss–" Sir Pentious' eyes snapped open in realization. " _Oh!_ Yesss honey~"

The power-couple left, leaving a slightly disgusted Angel Dust in their wake. "Still grosses me th'fuck out."

Husk looked at his phone and sniffed. "Cab's here. C'mon, let's make like trees and fuck off."

"I hear that."

They made to leave, stepping over the pulverized remains of their former tormentors. Moonchild paused and looked at the room, greening slightly. He adroitly reached into Angel's purse and produced several 100-soul bills, leaving them on the counter in the tip-envelope for housekeeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww he's still a good lad.


	11. Assimilation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's going to be a bit of a breather chapter.

Chapter 11: Assimilation  
  
Vaggie sat, stooped over the administrator’s desk as she pored over the Hotel’s expenses; it’d be a lean month, from the look of it. It’d been over a year and they’d still hadn’t stopped paying for the damage to the Hotel. Angels and bombs and gangsters, oh my! And now Charlie had gone and invited another potentially destructive demon into their midsts. Just once, Vaggie would like for their clients to be something mundane, like an adulterer or a Wall Street Wolf or the normal kind of assassin. Was that too much to ask? Not helped by Lucifer’s reduction in Charlie’s allowance. He wouldn’t shut the place down personally, no, that would send the wrong message, i.e. the Hotel was a threat. But now that redemption was possible(?) he certainly couldn’t be seen patronizing the establishment. On one hand, it meant less reliance on literally the most evil thing in creation, on the other hand it meant that the Hotel was underfunded and unprotected.

Though, given Charlie’s recent display of canniness, Vaggie was beginning to worry less and less. Just that night, in fact, Charlie had shown her shrewdness in dealing with the likes of Alastor. The Radio Demon, obviously chafing under his self-inflicted role as a ‘specialist’, attempted to retreat from Charlie’s ‘team-building exercises. In reality, she, Niffty, and Charlie were watching rom-coms, painting their nails, and braiding each other’s hair. Alastor, of course, demurred and left to do… whatever it was when he wasn’t lurking about in the shadows.

Then, Charlie said: ‘Oh, it’s good enough for Sally, but not for you? I thought you wanted ammo, Al.’

For some reason, this stuck with him and he remained, standing in the corner of room, leering from the shadows, occasionally commenting on the (admittedly frequent) lapses in logic on the part of the characters. The night went well enough, with Niffty and Charlie prattling on about girly stuff, Alastor offering a spiteful running commentary, and Vaggie… failing to unwind. It was something of an ongoing issue, she was willing to admit, but there were worse problems to have besides ‘a mild case of anhedonia’ as Alastor put it.

Dickhead.

Vaggie could hardly relax and enjoy faff like bad movies and braided hair and such when the Hotel was in the red and powerful demons were crawling out of the woodwork to bring the whole thing down around their ears! She could only really do anything about one of those, but that’s what she was going to do!

The door to the office opened and closed with a deliberate slowness, as though trying to escape notice. Vaggie didn’t bother looking up from the paperwork, she could tell it was Charlie by the _Joy_ by Jean Patou that wafted in.

“Sorry I bailed on girl’s night,” Vaggie said, scribbling in the margins. “I just couldn’t relax while the budget was–”

A long, shapely leg stretched out on her desk, alabaster skin almost shining in the light cast by the lamp, standing in stark contrast to the dark fishnet stocking criss-crossing it. Vaggie’s eye crawled up, and up, and up the leg until it finally ended in a small scrap of blue denim that might have been jeans at some point, mercilessly cut up, their remains now snugly hugging a full, shapely figure. Vaggie looked up to see the Princess of Hell smiling down at her, her chin notched playfully on her wrist, her fingers waving ‘hello’.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said Charlie, winking at her flustered girlfriend. “Come here often?”

Vaggie’s eye darted all over Charlie’s form; the make-up, the top (a black Bardot long-sleeve crop-top) even the way she had her hair braided and done up in gold brackets. It was all terribly… _familiar_.

“Charlie, what…?”

“You looked tense all night,” said Charlie, crossing her other leg over onto the desk. “I thought I’d… _help_.”

“Charlie, this is…” Vaggie’s eye drank her in, a heady flush burning in her cheeks, bright and hot. “… _Weird_.”

“Oh?” Charlie pouted playfully, crossing her arms across her lap, accentuating her sizable assets. “Don’t tell me, he wore it better?”

“Charlie…” Vaggie husked, her heart racing.

A flash of genuine concern flashed across Charlie’s immaculately made-up features. “Do you not like it?”

Vaggie’s eye widened, she shook her head and took Charlie’s hand in hers. “Babe, no! I mean, yes, yes I like it! You look amazing!”

“Oh, too bad…” Charlie said, her mischievous moue back in full force. “I was hoping you’d tell me to _take it off…_ ”

That did it. All thoughts of budgets and balance sheets and the questionable nature of dressing up like a patient for a lover were instantly drowned by a hot rush of blood. An overwhelming need surged through her as she shot to her feet, a rapacious smile on her normally severe features.

“Oh no… _that’s my job!_ ”

Vaggie leaned forward and kissed her, forcefully, her hands tracing up Charlie’s lean, shapely legs, her fingers finding the waist of her Daisy Dukes.

“Ah ah…” Charlie whispered into her mouth. “No hands.”

Vaggie smirked as Charlie undid the button and sat back on the desk, her legs spread. Vaggie leaned over and took the zipper between her teeth. It really had been far too long since they’d had time to themselves. In the back of her mind, Vaggie suspected that this was probably the exact reason Charlie was so compliant with Husk’s ‘Guy’s Night’ plan.

Whatever.

She drew down the zipper with agonizing slowness, savoring the build-up. Charlie’s cheeks burned red, her breath coming in needful pants. “Vaggie…”

The door to the office swung open with a bang, standing in the doorway was an agitated-looking Niffty. “Charlie! Vaggie! In the lobby! Come quick!”

Vaggie leapt back from Charlie, her eye glowing red. “Niffty! Knock!”

Charlie’s legs swung shut as she hurriedly did up her fly. “Uh, w-we were just, uh–”

“Don’t care!” Niffty said, running out the door, beckoning them. “The guys are back early, there’s something you need to see. It’s Moonie!”

“Moonie? What is it? Niffty!” Charlie hopped off the desk and followed after, turning around. “Vaggie, you coming?”

“Go ahead, I’ll be right with you.” Vaggie got to her feet, glaring at nothing in particular as she collected the paperwork that had been scattered. ‘ _Nosy little… is it possible for a chick to get blue balls?_ ’

* * *

  
Charlie rounded the corner to see Husk, Angel Dust, and a tall demon in a toga and a baseball cap. Husk was in the middle of fending off Niffty, who was pestering the new guy, pulling at the sheet covering his body.

“But he’s all dirty! I can’t let him wear that rag a second longer!”

“We’ll get him to a shower! Hands off, Critter!”

As Charlie drew closer, her nose curled at what she could only identify as an overwhelming meat-smell, blood and bowel and other such low odors; this new guy smelled like a slaughterhouse floor.

“Husk? Angel?” Charlie said as she drew closer. “Why are you back so early? Who’s this? Where’s Moonie?”

“Oh, uh, hey Chuck…” Husk said, trying and failing to look nonchalant.

Angel sighed and shook his head. “Oh, here we go…”

The new guy turned around and Charlie gasped: it was Moonchild, over a foot taller and more heavily built, but there was no mistaking it. She could also see now that he was covered in blood. Her mind was whirling with questions What had happened? Was he hurt? Why did he look so ~~hot~~ different? Why did her patients keep coming back to her covered in blood?!

“What are you wearing?” She heard herself say. ‘ _Oh, I’m leading with that, am I? Stupid!_ ’

“Mr. Husk said that after what happened at the casino, I probably shouldn’t show my face in West Central for a while. Hold on…”

Moonchild reached up and took off the hat, shaking out his ‘hair’ in a tumbling cascade of rose-pink, blood-splattered tentacles, framing his high, proud cheekbones and square, defined jaw perfectly. The air around him practically glowed.

Niffy’s jaw dropped, her eye wide and gleaming, Charlie turned to Husk, her gaze as cold and clear as an arctic breeze. “Casino?”

Husk chuckled nervously, tapping his fingers together. “Uh, well, y’see–”

“You told me you were just going out on the town!”

“Technically, the casino is part’a the–” Angel began to say, the words dying in his throat the second Charlie turned her glare to him. “Shutting up.”

“You were using him to cheat, weren’t you?!”

“N-now, Chuck…”

“Miss Charlie, please don’t be angry with Mr. Husk,” Moonchild said, stepping between them. “I agreed to it, I’m just as much to blame as–”

“Moonchild,” Charlie said, her tone firm and authoritative. “This is between me and my employee. If you would kindly head back to your room, I’ll be with you in a little bit, alright?”

Moonchild hung his head and nodded, glancing at Husk, who nodded and bade him leave. “Thank you, Angel, Mr. Husk. Except for that last part, I actually had a lot of fun.”

“Get some sleep, kid,” Husk said. “Ya did good.”

“Git yer ass inna shower while yer at it!” Angel called after him then, glancing at a leering Niffty, said: “And lock yer door!”

Moonchild nodded and made off for his room, Charlie could practically feel the exhaustion in every step; whatever happened seemed to have wrung just about every last drop of energy out of the demon.

“Alright, what’s the big–” Vaggie said as she turned the corner, almost walking into Moonchild. “Whoa-shit! I… Moonie?”

“Hi, Miss Vaggie, Imma gobed…” Moonchild yawned, brushing his hair out of his eyes, showing off his impressively defined bicep as he did, sparkles shimmered in the air.

“Oh, uh… yeah, whatever. Good night, Moonie.” Vaggie looked him up and down as he walked past her, expression flat and uninterested. ‘ _No more femboy? …I just can’t have anything today, can I?_ ’

“I’ll go make sure he gets right off to sleep!” Niffty said, skipping down the hall.

Without looking, Charlie reached back and plucked the little insect off the ground and tucked her under her arm.

“Aww!”

“Alright, what happened?”

Husk opened his mouth to respond when a ghoulish, red-taloned hand settled on his shoulder. Husk glowered up at Alastor, snarling as he slapped his hand away. “Paws off, Grins!”

“Seems like the three of you had yourselves something of a roll, eh?” Alastor said, turning to Charlie. “Before you go and get your jaundiced account of the evening, might I interest you in some quality journalism?”

Alastor waved his hand and the wide-screen monitor of the front-desk computer spun around, the screen flickering to life, showing the characteristic layout of Channel 666, streaming news.

“–ust in, revised casualty lists place the number of slaughtered at 85, with over 150 seriously injured. The identity of the attacker is presently unknown, as is the motivation for the attack, but we here at Channel 666 would personally like to thank this mystery massacre-master for this wonderfully gory story! For those of you just tuning in, we will be uploading fresh new footage of the massacre every hour on the hour! Should any of you encounter the suspect, he is considered by authorities to be unarmed and extremely dangerous. Only approach him if you have one or more friends nearby to record your gruesome disemboweling and send it to us. The present going rate for footage is one souls per second, with bonuses offered for video quality and number of distinct organs visible!”

Charlie’s eyes went wide as the footage played on loop; grainy, high-vantage security footage showed the very familiar monster threshing dense crowds of fleeing gamblers. Shaky, handheld footage from a phone thrashed about in a crowd, occasionally panning down to a fresh corpse, limbs and viscera and raw flesh on lurid display. Another video showed Diavolo snatching a demon’s head clean off his shoulders and throw it like a fastball, blasting a hole in the chest of a towering suarian.

“Oh, my God…” She murmured. “What–? How? _How?!_ ”

“The pertinent question, in my opinion, is ‘why’,” said Alastor, gesturing at the bloody and disheveled demons. “As in ‘why are these two still in one piece’ and ‘why is our violent friend not still carving a bloody swathe through West-Central’.”

Charlie turned to Husk, her arms crossed, her stare withering. “Well?”

“Awright, cliffnotes,’ said Husk, quickly running through the rough outline of the night, with some pointed omissions. “…And, after that we just left before anyone could recognize him.”

Charlie was silent, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, Husk cleared his throat and rubbed his arm, nervously. “Yer, uh, ya ain’t mad, are ya Chuck?”

“Mad? No, I’m not mad,” she said, the air around her curdling, electrifying, glowing as her eyes flashed red, her teeth growing into fangs as horns sprouted from her forehead. “ _Mad doesn’t even **begin** to cover it!_”

The air surged out and away from her in a powerful wind, physically pushing Husk and Angel backwards on their heels. Niffty tumbled backwards only to be caught and held by Alastor, who shot a shocked glance at Vaggie, who herself was looking worried.

“Hey, Chuck, c’mon!” Husk said, eyes wide, his normal, surly tone long gone. “Calm down! No one got hurt!”

On the screen, a demon screamed as his head was smashed into his shoulders by a giant fist, Channel 666 added a comical, cartoonish ‘bonk’ sound effect and a laugh track.

“…No one got killed?” He said, trying to sound as small as possible.

“One guy got killed,” said Angel, also cowering.

“Right, just one guy!”

“By me! Not Moonie! I killed ‘im wit’ my knife!”

“We are _not_ helpin’ our case here…”

Charlie inhaled through her nose a few times, her monstrous features receding with each exhale. Before long, she was back to normal. She put her hands together and touched her fingers to her lips, her brow furrowing as she glared at them. “Alright. Husk, you’re fired. Angel, you’re grounded. We’re done here.”

Husk was silent, his eyes wide.

“What?!” Angel exclaimed. “Chuck, ya can’t do that!”

“Oh, yes I can!” She said, her hands on her hips. “You’re my patient, and so long as you want to stay here, you do what I say!”

“Fuck that, I meant ya can’t fire Husk!” Angel put an arm around the stunned sphinx’s shoulders. “It was my idea! I talked ‘im into it!”

“I don’t care! I can’t have an employee who’ll endanger patients on a whim, or for self-gain!” Charlie said, jabbing a finger at Husk. “You were using a vulnerable soul to cheat at a casino! What if you got caught? What if you got him killed? What then?”

Husk sighed and looked at the floor, he had no answer to that besides: “Yer right. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Wait, no! Ch-Chuck– _Charlie!_ Ya can’t-ya-I-he–” Angel stammered as Husk made for the door, his eyes wide and pleading. “Yer just hurtin’ Moonie, wit’ this!”

“What do you mean?” Charlie said, arching an eyebrow.

“Ya saw him, didn’t ya?” Angel said, striking a muscle pose. “He’s changed! He came outta that monster lookin’ like that! Ey, Al, yer the expert! Would Moonie from a day ago have been able to punt that cunt back inta Limbo?”

Charlie turned to Alastor who, despite his irritation, rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Not a chance in France, I’m afraid.”

“See!” Angel said, dragging Husk over to him. “We bonded with the kid! We-we talked him down, Chuck! We got through to him while was all like that–” Angel gestured at the screen, wherein a hellhound was being skinned like a rabbit. “Me an’ Husk, we’re his buds now! Moonie stopped Asshat-Moonie from hurtin’ us all by hisself! He shook off Devil-guy because we told him he had it in him! Because we _believed_ in him! Chuck, it’s workin’, we just gotta, like, stay the course or somethin’! Firin’ someone he trusts would cause him to, I dunno, relapse or somethin’?”

Charlie glanced between Husk and Angel, her hands balling into fists before she threw them up, exacerbated. “Fine. Fine! Husk, you’re back on, but no more funny-business! Angel… I’m not sure if I should be annoyed or happy that you’ve been paying so much attention. But no more ‘Guy’s Night’, understand?”

“Don’t need to tell me twice!” Husk said, wiping off his brow.

“Yeah!” Angel said, smiling gratefully. “We keep barely makin’ it back from these things! Slap my ass, but I think I wanna stay in for a while.”

“Finally, some good news,” Charlie grumbled, rubbing her temples. “Anyway, I gotta go talk to Moonie. Everyone just… just don’t get into any more trouble.”

“You got it,” Husk said, before reaching out to her. “Chuck! …Charlie. I got somethin’ to tell ya.”

Charlie turned to face him, her expression unfathomably tired. “What is it, Husk?”

He paused, reconsidering, did he really want to lay _that_ drama-bomb on her, now of all times. No, better wait until he knew for sure. “Uh… thanks for not cannin’ me.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, looking flatly amused. “You’re Moonie’s best friend now, right? Well, I’ll hold you to that. We’ve got so, _so_ many fun hobbies to try tomorrow. _You’ll just love it!_ ”

“Fuuuuuck…” Husk groaned and slapped his hand to his face, hard enough to be painful. “…I deserve that.”

“Ey Chuck!” Angel called out.

“Yes, Angel?”

“Nice outfit.” He smiled wryly, looking her up and down. “Looks familiar.”

Charlie jumped and looked down at herself, her face flushing bright red. “Oh no.”

“Moonie wore it better,” said Niffty, crossing her arms and sticking her nonexistent nose up.

“I’m going to go change…” Charlie said, laughing nervously. “And _then_ I’m going to go see Moonie!”

Charlie took off down the hall and Vaggie approached the two of them. “That’s honestly the closest I’ve seen Charlie to losing it. Congrats.”

“Yeah, well,” said Husk, reaching into a bag and producing six stacks of bills. “Sixty K, for the Hotel’s fund. Figger it’d take the edge off.”

“And here,” Angel said, reaching into his purse and handing her a long rectangular steel box. “Cuz I feel bad or whatever.”

Vaggie opened it and gasped, seeing twenty large, fat stacks of bills reading 10K. “Holy shit, Angel!”

Husk gawped at the box, turning to Angel. “Where’d ya get that?!”

“We was in a safe, remember?” Angel shrugged. “Ya tellin’ me ya didn’t pocket a few goodies?”

“I was busy tryin’ to not get squashed!”

“Well, that’s sounds like yer problem, Mittens.”

“This just in!” Katie Killjoy crowed from the desk monitor, her rictus grin creaking across her face. “We have none other that the Azathoth’s owner, Frederick Von Eldritch himself, on the line to personally deliver a message to the perpetrator. His Excellency Frederick Von Eldritch, everyone!” 

The screen switched to a severe-looking archdevil. His body was a comely, dignified conglomeration of tentacles and teeth in humanoid form, his brutally handsome face pulled into a menacing scowl. “Thank you, Ms. Killjoy. Citizens of Pentagram City and beyond, today an entity known only as the Red Nightmare, without discernible cause or motive, openly and brutally attacked the patrons of the Azathoth Casino, my casino. Hundreds were butchered and will be laid low for months, if not years, as they regenerate, and countless more were horrifically mutiliated. The cleaning bill alone is estimated to be in the hundreds of thousands. To this nameless killer, this ‘Red Nightmare’, I have only this to say: I will look for you, I _will_ find you, _and I will…_ ”

He leaned back in his chair, a grin on his face as he gestured at a graphic displaying a barred fighting ring with all manner of gruesome implements. “…Pay you _handsomely_ to be the breakout star of my newest caged fighting arena! After going over your (ahem) ‘resume’ with the heads of my marketing department, we strongly believe there is a sizable market for your ‘splash zone’ fighting style! If this offer interests you, my contact information will be displayed here, here, and here. Phone, text, email or fax, I eagerly await your response! To reiterate: your pay is _highly negotiable!_ ”

Angel grinned and turned to Husk. “Are ya ponderin’ what I’m ponderin’, Mittens?”

Husk growled and smacked Angel across the back of the head.

“Oww! Fuck! I was fuckin’ jokin’, ya cocksucker!”

“Me next! Me next!” Vaggie exclaimed, jumping up and smacking the spider.

“Fuck off, Snatch!”

* * *

  
  
Down the hall, Alastor watched as the fools indulged in yet another round of bickering. They had no idea how close this edifice was to the abyss, to the gnashing, brutal jaws of the Inner Circle. It wouldn’t do to actually warn any of them, since it was always Alastor’s experience that jumpy, alert prey would often spring the very trap they ran to avoid. No, they were perfect the way they were, ignorant stooges were predictable, after all. Besides, Charlie may yet get this one out of _his_ grasp as well.

His smile almost faltered for a moment. That the Princess was right ate at him some. What a humdinger of a turn-out! Redemption, whoda thunk? Still, if killing the fools was off the table, tossing them into the neighbor’s yard would have to do. However, the fact he had to enter her service and dance to her tune like a capering monkey was nothing short of agony. But necessary agony is character-building, after all! Once the lad was far enough along, perhaps Alastor would tempt Angel with a bump of toot and get fired from this searingly saccharine servitude. At the very least, he’d get a tops show from the Princess. Husker very nearly bore the brunt of the Princess’s slow-burning wrath, but even that was but a gentle summer breeze compared to what he sensed in her.

His grin widened into a leer.

He was hardly one to drop jaw and drool over a supple slice, but even he felt some manner of stirring when Her Highness bared her fangs. Perhaps it was the mental and ethical fatigue such a lapse in control implied? Or it was the momentary breakdown of her morals that excited him so, the betrayal of her precious principles? Maybe it was the truly vibrant, delicious carnage such a being could unleash when pushed too far, the sheer power and fury percolating away under that cheerful, bubbly demeanor?

Oh yes. Quite the stir indeed.

His ear twitched, he glanced up and over his shoulder, to the ceiling and the rooms beyond.

“Who’s this, now?”  
  


* * *

  
Octavia stepped through the portal and into the room, glancing around at the tastefully appointed suite. Not bad. Not her cup of tea, but she could certainly appreciate the effort and flair that went into the decorating.

‘ _This is Moonie’s room?_ ’ She thought. ‘ _Huh… I can see why he stays here. Is that how she draws them in? Free food, nice digs, safety… all that shit I take for granted as a spoiled princess? Ugh, I just made myself sick._ ’

She sniffed the air, her keen senses picking up a delicate smell that made her mouth water: blood and raw meat. Octavia rarely indulged this part of herself, too ‘Old School Demon’ for her tastes, but she couldn’t deny that sometimes she just wanted to bite into something hot and bloody.

Getting off-track here.

Another smell was carried on the air, sweet and chemical, drifting on a warm, humid draft: shampoo. That and the sound of pattering water indicated where Moonchild was at the moment. Octavia sat down on his bed, bouncing lightly on it, testing the fabric of the blankets and sheets. Pretty good. Not impressive by her standards, but certainly several cuts above what the average Hellion would be accustomed to. She sat up when she heard the pattering of the shower cease, suddenly aware of the possibility that Moonchild may not be decent when he walked out of there. Eh. Whatever. While she wasn’t attracted to him in that way, but she would freely admit that Moonie was easy to look at.

Besides, his reaction was going to be hilarious.

The door opened with a soft billowing cloud of steam, out of which walked a tall, almost as tall as her, and fabulously well-built demon, nude save for a small towel wrapped about his waist, his head swaddled in a towel as he dried himself off. Octavia’s eyes snapped open in shock. Had she gotten the locator spell wrong? Who’s room was this? Should she hide?

His skin was smooth and rubbery, red with criss-crossing bands of white forming a very familiar diamond pattern all over his rugged, muscular body. The mystery demon stopped drying and wrapped the towel over his shoulders, throwing his head back and shaking out the numerous long pink tendrils that served as his hair. Octavia gasped upon seeing his face, he had a more robust, masculine bone-structure and a squarer jaw, but was unmistakably…

“Moonchild?”

Moonchild started, his eyes wide as he spun around to look at her, one hand uselessly trying to cover his body while the other grabbed at the towel about his waist, ensuring it stayed in place. “O-Octavia?!”

He looked… different, and his voice was a little deeper, smoother, but this dork was undoubtably Moonchild. “Hey… uh…”

“When did you get here?” Moonchild said, looking around the room. “Does Charlie know?”

“No, I, uh, I took one of my dad’s grimoires and portaled here.” Octavia said, walking over to him. “Moonie, what-what happened to you?!”

“Hmm? Oh!” He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck, unwittingly flexing his impressively defined chest, shoulder and arm. “It’s a long story. I think it has something to do with my therapy?”

“Yeah?” Octavia said, her eyes wandering. “That’s cool.”

“Well, you see, I think what happened is–okay, going back to the start of the night, my friends and I were at the Azathoth Casino and we–”

Moonchild’s continued to talk about… something, Octavia found his new voice pleasant to listen to, deep and smooth. And it was far from the only change for the better. His formerly lean, toned belly was now a small mountain range, bunching and rolling as Moonchild gesticulated, summarizing his infinitely less interesting night. Her eyes followed them down to his defined V-line, his trim waist and the shelf of his taut rump.

“…And when I retook control, I looked like this! I’ll have to ask Charlie about it, but I think it has something to do with–Octavia? Via, are you alright?”

She blinked slowly, her eyes slowly making her way up to his. “M’sorry, wha?”

Moonchild sighed and rolled his eyes, taking the towel from his shoulders and holding it over his chest and belly. “Oh, Via! Not you, too!”

“What! I was just–” She blinked, cocking her head to the side. “What do you mean ‘too’?”

“I don’t need another set of eyes ogling me, thank you very much!” He said, making his way over to his dresser.

“I wasn’t…” She said as he knelt down to grab a pair of pants from the dresser. “…Okay, well, who else is ogling you around here?”

Moonchild reached out and slammed his fist next to a vent on the wall, causing it to pop off and reveal a small, cycloptic demoness.

She smiled and giggled nervously. “Oh! Uh, I was just, uh, cleaning… the vent. I was cleaning the vent. Who’s this, Moonie?”

“I’m Octavia,” she said, confused. “And you are…?”

“I’m Niffty!” The little demoness chirped, crawling out of the vent. “I’m the maid!”

“And I’m too tired for this,” Moonchild grumbled, uncharacteristically terse. “Please leave.”

“Ugh! Fine!” Niffty skulked over to the door, turning around to leer at Moonchild. “Your girlfriend’s a lucky gal!”

He pinched the bridge of his understated nose. “She’s not my–whatever, just go.”

Octavia watched her scuttle out the door and turned around to see Moonchild wriggling into a pair of pants that were now several sizes too small. She shook her head, actually thinking about the situation. “Wait… you’re like this because of your therapy? How does that work?”

“I think it’s a self-image thing,” Moonchild said as he attempted to fit a much-too-small tanktop over his shoulders. “Like, I made progress towards becoming redeemed so I look different… or something? I don’t know, it’s something I need to talk to Charlie about.”

His clothes were doing very little to preserve his modesty. “Uh-huh.”

“Via, I swear to God, I’m going to get a bucket of cold water.”

“Well, excuse me! This is all a little weird,” Octavia said, throwing her hands in the air. “I don’t see you for a few days and suddenly you, what, have a personal revelation and change your appearance?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it does seem a little… odd.”

“‘Odd’, he says,” said Octavia, sitting down on the bed. “And I _wasn’t_ ogling.”

“Yeah, sure,” he grunted before sighing, turning to her, a tired but warm smile on his face. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and I’m really spent. It’s good to see you, Octavia, really. I missed you.”

When he smiled before, Moonchild was adorable. When he smiled now…

Octavia felt a blush burn in her cheeks as her heart hammered in her chest. “I-it’s really good to look at you, Moonie. Uh! I mean, i-it’s good to see you! Uh, to know you’re okay. Like, with all this stuff going on and, uh, stuff.”

“Well said,” Moonchild yawned, sitting on the bed next to her. “So, what brings you out here?”

“Nothing, really,” said Octavia, leaning back with a sigh. “Dad sent Mum and I to another estate for ‘safety’. I was going a little stir-crazy and, well, I wanted to see you. Uh! To see my pal!”

Moonchild smiled and lay down on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. “Thanks, that means a lot. I’ve had an… interesting past few days. Seeing a familiar face really… makes me… feel…”

“Feel what?” Octavia turned to look at him, smiling softly when she saw him fast asleep. “Feel safe, I hope.”

She pored over his face, serene and peaceful, and felt something warm and flush blossom in her chest. Was it pride? Relief? Her friend seemed to be doing well, his obvious physical changes notwithstanding, he seemed… confident? More assertive, certainly. Or maybe he’d just been too tired to put on his effacing mien. Either way, seeing him this way filled her with a curious flush of emotions; happy to see him make progress but also… apprehensive? The program seemed to be working, but also _the program seemed to be working_. If this kind of change was possible, might the other thing also be possible? Were her days with her friend numbered?

Her friend.

Her only real friend.

Octavia laid down next to him, careful not to wake him. She watched his full chest rise and fall, his breathing slow and calm. She felt her own eyes start to grow heavy, a yawn escaping her as she scooted a little closer.

“I’ll worry about that later,” she said, her eyes drifting shut. “Good night, Moonie…”

Before long she was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shipping?  
> In MY fanfiction?  
> It's more likely than you think...


	12. Synchronicity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please go check out Chapter 2 and Chapter 3 for the new art for this fic!
> 
> The artists are https://www.deviantart.com/thelastunicorninoz and https://www.deviantart.com/demoxdaguy respectively

Chapter 12: Synchronicity  
  


Charlie straightened her bowtie as she approached her new patient’s room. While she was certainly going to be more lenient with him, this was definitely going to be a dressing-down. While she didn’t doubt that innocent little Moonchild had been taken advantage of, she needed to dissuade this sort of behavior in the future. She had cooled off some since her initial explosion, already feeling the dull throb of regret and embarrassment for her lapse in demeanor, but she had enough to worry about without her very own staff actively corrupting her patients!

“Speak of the devil…” Charlie grumbled.

Niffty was standing outside Moonchild’s door, her ear pressed against the carved oak.

“Niffty,” said Charlie, her tone icy. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Not really, kitchen’s clean,” said the little insect demon, ear still to the door. “Awful quiet in there.”

“ **Niffty.** ” Charlie’s tone was low and icy. “ _Be somewhere else._ ”

Niffty went stiff and stepped away from the door like it was red-hot, her eye wide. “I-I-I was just–”

“Leaving.” Charlie made for the door, reaching for the knob.

“Wait! He’s not alone in there!” Niffty said, her tone urgent. “Moonie’s spending some quality time with his girlfriend~”

Charlie stopped, processing this new information, before shaking her head and grasping the doorknob.

“I’m being serious!” Niffty exclaimed, smiling lasciviously. “Moonie’s in there with a girl~!”

“Niffty, that’s ridiculous! We’re on that fifth floor, the hotel’s locked down, if anyone got in we’d know.” Charlie knocked and opened the door, peering in for a moment before turning off the light, closing the door and stepping back, her eyes wide. “That’s Octavia Goetia.”

“Pretty name,” Niffty said, rubbing her cheeks. “And such lovely bone-structure.”

“Prince Stolas’ daughter is here, sleeping with one of my patients,” said Charlie, flabbergasted, her hands to her face.

“Lucky! They sure are quiet lovemakers,” Niffty said, before smiling and sighing wistfully. “Probably too busy smooching to make all those crude noises! How romantic!”

“What? No! I mean, they’re both in there, asleep!” Charlie said, a little too loudly, before lowering her voice. “Clothes on. Get your mind out of the gutter!”

“No~” Niffty giggled, a fluorescent blush in her cheeks. “I’m picturing it! Lookit me go! I think I ship it!”

“Don’t you ship it!”

“Imma ship it!”

“No! Do you understand what this means?!” Charlie hissed.

“…They’d make beautiful children?”

“No… Well, they _would_ pretty cute, but no! If Stolas finds out she’s here, and if what we’ve heard about him is true… and if I know _my father_ … either way, there could be some very bad trouble coming our way so long as she’s here.”

Niffty blinked and looked at the door to Moonie’s room. “Want me to kick her out?”

“No, no, just… I need to sleep on this.” Charlie sighed and rubbed her temples, suddenly very tired. “Any more disastrous news to drop on me tonight?”

“The washing machines are broken,” said Niffty, smiling blithely.

Charlie turned to stare at Niffty, saying nothing, before turning away and trudging down the hall.

Niffty watched her go, waiting until she turned the corner before rushing back over to Moonchild’s room, cracking the door open and peering in. “FishBird? HootGlub? Ooh! LunarOwl! Yeeesss… yes, that’s good~”

* * *

  
  
Moxxie scowled as he looked through the high powered scope of his customized Barret M82. The crosshairs leveled straight on his target, portly balding man in his late fifties some mile-and-a-half away. The mark was U.S. Senator Micheal Bosco… or was it Edward Kovacs? He grit his teeth, he should at least know for certain the name of his target! Once again, their acerbic secretary had gone AWOL, leaving him and Millie no choice but to leave Gabriel behind to open their exit portal. First Blitzo ditched, and now Loona, leaving it to M&M to uphold the company’s reputation!

Millie’s voice crackled on his ear-bud. “Moxx, do ya have a solution?”

“I got eyes on him, honey,” said Moxxie, following Senator Whoever with his scope. “But there’s someone else in the office.”

“So?”

“So, I’d rather not risk hitting someone else.”

He could practically hear her smile and gentle eye-roll. “Aw, Moxxie, yer real sweet, but we gotta dust this creep if we wanna make it home in time for _It’s Dahm Good!_ ”

“It’s not my fault this guy had some unexpected company!” Moxxie said, sighing as the sweaty, rotund man paced about in his office; this all would have been so much easier if Gabriel was here. He’d have turned him into a document and put him through the paper shredder or something!

It had been odd, though. Very odd to be sure. The Senator had been enjoying an unenthusiastic fellatio from one of his prettier staffers when someone apparently entered his office, someone important if the Senator’s reaction was any indication, hurriedly packing his chode away and shooing the young man out. From his vantage point, Moxxie could clearly see the only entrance to his office, and could not recall anyone entering the room. Since then, the Senator seemed agitated, nervous, his face flushed and slick with sweat. A few heated words directed at his guest and then he seemed to catch his death of fright, his piggy little eyes bugging out of his skull.

“What is going on in there?”

“Moxxie, take the shot!”

The Senator waddled over to the window and opened it, taking deep gasps of fresh air. He turned his back and walked away, talking to someone off to the side. This was it. Moxxie squeezed the trigger and the M82 roared as it jumped, a thumb-sized chunk of copper-jacketed lead streaked through the air, screaming across the mile-and-a-half distance.

…One…

Senator Kovacs/Bosco crossed his arms, scowling.

…Two…

Harsh words, recriminations, and instant regret.

‘ _This apparently stressful conversation’s almost over,_ ’ Moxxie thought, smiling. ‘ _You’re welcome._ ’

A huge, gloved hand shot out from high above the little man with utterly inhuman speed. Moxxie gasped and blinked, reacquiring the office in his scope. “What?”

Something shifted in his peripheral vision, the still-smoking bullet landing next to him with a metallic ‘plink’. Moxxie looked up as a dark shadow was cast over him. A huge, muscular rabbit demon wearing a star-spangled top-hat stood astride the comparatively tiny imp, his flowing cape and blond curly hair shifting majestically in the wind. “Hello.”

“Uh.”

“What’s an imp…” The huge rabbit demon began to say, before seeing the logo emblazoned on the side of the gun. “Ah! I.M.P.! Is Blitzo with you?”

“Hi-ya!” Moxxie screamed, swinging the .50cal sniper about, leveling it at the imposing demon. The rifle kicked as light and sound exploded from its barrel. The rabbit-demon swatted the speeding bullet away like a fly, casually kicking the M82 out of Moxxie’s hands, shattering it in the process.

“No, no, none of that. I’m not going to hurt you, little one,” the demon said squatting down and extending his hand. “Your boss is a friend of mine. My name is Danger.” 

Moxxie examined the gloved hand, hesitating for a moment before taking it. “Blitzo doesn’t have friends.”

“He has at least one,” said Danger. “I presume you’re here to kill Senator Kovacs?”

“Will that be a problem?”

“Not at all. Though I would like for you to hold your fire for a moment, I’m not quite done with him yet.”

“DON’T YOU TOUCH MY MOXXIE!” Millie roared as she clambered up the side of the building, throwing herself at Danger, two Seraphic kukris in her hands, a third one in her tail.

Danger flicked his cape, obscuring Millie from view for an instant. When the cape fluttered back, the impess was gone.

Moxxie shot to his hooves and drew two pistols. “What did you do?! _Where’s my wife?!_ ”

“Back at the office, don’t worry.” Danger’s ear twitched, the distant sounds of sirens was growing increasingly less distant. “Hm. Look, I’ll conclude my business with Kovacs and kill him. I’ll leave your business card with the body so you can take credit.”

“Uh…” Moxxie holstered his pistols. “May I ask what your business with the Senator is?”

“You may ask,” said Danger, drawing his cape forward, enveloping Moxxie. The next instant, the imp was back in Hell.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Danger smiled and turned around, once more in the Senator’s office. “Excuse me. I had some friends come in from out of town.”

“Was that a gunshot?!” Senator Kovacs squealed, his shrill, tremulous voice unpleasant to Danger’s sensitive ears.

“Yes. Now, to our business…”

“F-Former President Valentine, I can’t help you! Not now, not with this! The Vault has significant pull in the Capital, and ever since you escaped–”

“Rescued.” Danger turned around, his powerful, 8-foot frame utterly dwarfing the fat little man. “I did not escape. I was _rescued_.”

“R-right…” Kovacs cowered, wringing his hands. “…L-look, Funny, i-if I had known you were in there, I–”

“Enough of that talk,” Danger said, his tone gentle, almost friendly, but his stare was as cold and pitiless as the light of a distant star. “The Vault has lost the rabbit in its hat, any semblance of influence they maintain is simple inertia. To follow the example of Rome, to survive on plunder and slavery, is to court a similar fate. They will not be a problem much longer.”

“W-well, what is it you want me to do?”

“Do? I don’t need you to do anything but sign the support document, Senator.”

Senator Kovacs looked at the ominous document on his desk. It was for a sweeping financial transparency bill that would upend the status quo in Washington DC. No longer would powerful third parties like The Vault be able to clandestinely influence policy with capital. That the bill had gotten far enough along to wind up on his desk would have required nothing less than divine intervention. Or, given the unholy creature tainting his office, less-than-divine intervention. His signature on the document would see the bill pass, the ensuing senate meeting was more or less a formality.

“A-alright. Yes, right away,” he muttered, shuffling over to his desk, a simple, practiced signature and the deed was done. “There. How’s that?”

“Excellent. Thank you for your cooperation, Eddie.” Danger tipped his hat and extended his massive paw.

Senator Edward Kovacs hesitantly took the demon’s hand, grimacing as his own vanished in the massive hellion’s grasp. Danger shook his hand, his grip firm-yet-painless.

“Oh, and Eddie?”

“Yes, Funny?”

“Goodbye.”

Danger’s cape whirled about and enveloped the little man, as soon as he had vanished a shape plummeted past the window. Danger smirked and turned around, now in Hell. His plans were in motion, and if America was to survive, it would need him, for there were machinations in Heaven and Hell that could tear reality asunder.

He would need help if he were to prevent this.

He looked at the I.M.P. business card in his palm and smiled, closing his hand. When he opened it again, the card was gone  
  
  


* * *

  
  
The second Senator Kovacs lost sight of Danger, he felt the world drop out from under him, his eyes squinted shut as bright sunlight scorched his retinas, tears running up his face as wind lashed about him. He was outside, somehow, buildings spouted up around him. Edward Kovacs rolled onto his belly as he fell, the sidewalk racing towards him at the speed of death itself. He managed to scream just before his body crumpled the hood of his white Camaro, bursting open like a bag of offal, blood and viscera splattering stark and red.

A woman was sprayed with hot blood and excrement and screamed, she wouldn’t stop screaming even as EMTs loaded her into an ambulance. A cursory investigation would reveal the signed document of approval on his desk and a business card for a company called the Immediate Murder Professionals. A media circus ensued, conclusions were drawn in the public mind, and accusations flew. Edward Kovacs would be remembered as a martyr for anti-corruption, and his brazen assassination only bolstered the popularity of the bill he apparently gave his life for. In a few seconds of mortal terror, the meek, officious little man accomplished more than in his mundane, unremarkable lifetime.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Octavia mumbled as she woke, the room was dark but her strigiform eyes would soon adjust. She was on her side, her head rest on something firm and warm, it smelled familiar, pleasant. Her eyes adjusted and she could see what she was resting on, or rather, who. Moonchild, this new Moonchild, was sleeping next to her. No, not next to her, alongside her, her head resting on his chest, her arm draping across his abdomen. A blush formed in her cheeks when she felt his arm snaking down her back, his hand cupping her shapely rump. Octavia slowly rose out of the semi-embrace, not sure what to make of her pounding heart, the heady flush burning in her body.

Why?

This was _Moonchild_ , after all. That meek, friendly little creature she’d grown so fond of, that she’d come to trust. She didn’t think of him like… l _ike that_. He was still that silly, timid demon who hid in garbage! Having a new, ruggedly chiseled body didn’t change that.

…She realized she was staring.

‘ _Stop! It’s not like that!_ ’ Octavia got to her feet and ran her fingers through her feathers. ‘ _You’re just… excited for him! Yeah! His therapy is really, **really** paying off, I guess? If he’s happy, you’re happy, and he’s happy, right? What’d he say, it’s a self-image thing? Well, his self-image must be **amazing!** I mean, just look at him! He’s all fit, and healthy and-and… damn, it’s like that tank-top is **painted** on…_’

Octavia turned her head and summoned the grimoire. ‘I should go. I need to go. I can’t bring him down with all my bullshit. I’ll just head home and…’

‘ _Go! Go! Get out of my sight!_ ’ Her mother had screeched, throwing the grimoire. ‘ _Go be with your precious peasant! Stay with him until the others find you! Go! GO! You’re just like your father! GET OUT!_ ’

Octavia winced at the memory and shook her head. Why did she confront her? Why now? What was she thinking? Mum had been through so much recently, with dad, and now with all the stuff with Uncle Sally, no wonder she blew up! Octavia sighed; she loved her mother, and her mother loved her. She knew this. Mum was a proud woman, steely and fierce, and intensely self-possessed. It’s almost like she didn’t even consider Moonchild might not appreciate her attention, that he might be too afraid to voice his objections. Being told as much, and being put on the spot, what else could she do but lash out?

‘ _Does that excuse it, though? What she did to him for so long… She’s too proud to admit that she was wrong… if she even believes it was wrong._ ’

She turned to Moonchild, who was still snoring softly. She felt a sharp pang of disgust with herself. Was she any better? Full disclosure, she _absolutely_ was ogling before. Objectifying the progress he had made, leering like… like _Dad!_ Well, no more! This was still Moonchild, that kindhearted, innocent, gentle soul that suffered so at the talons of her family. He was undergoing some kind of transformation, becoming a different, healthier person, and she had to be there for him! He’d been her patient confidant for so long, it was high time for her to pay him back!

“Get you some clothes that fit, for one…” She said, aloud.

“Snrk! Wuh…” Moonchild stirred and rubbed his eyes. “Hmm? Via? Oh, so I didn’t dream that.”

“Morning, Moonie. How do you feel?”

“Better, rested,” he yawned, stretching as he stood up. “You stayed the night?”

“Yeah, I was, uh, pretty tired, too,” Octavia said, her home life was hardly something to drop on him just now. “Figured why not, right?”

“I guess? I was meaning to ask before, what–” Moonchild began to say when a low, gurgling rumble issued from his belly.

“What?”

“Nothing, just, uh, I’m _starving!_ ” He turned to her, smiling as he offered his arm. “May I treat you to breakfast, Highness?”

She returned the smile and looped her arm under his. “We graciously accept your offer.”

* * *

  
  
Breakfast was underway, the smells of grease and coffee hung in the air as Razzle and Dazzle busied themselves in the kitchen alongside Niffty. Niffty promised him a proper breakfast with her own special touch. Moonchild was thankful, in addition to drawing the wrong kind of attention, this new body of his was something of a calorie-hog, it seems. Or maybe it was the work-out he’d gotten the other night?

The other night.

He remembered everything of that night. The rage, the fury, the… fear? Terror was a better term for it. Everything had terrified and infuriated him. Everything and everyone was threat, a means of some unknowable torture and death that had to be utterly destroyed. And not just because they knew who he was, that was his alter-ego’s all-consuming obsession, no, he had to protect himself from–

Wait, he was two people? Always had been.

Huh.

He remembered that, too?

He’d always known.

This revelation was hitting a lot softer than he remembered anticipating. Wait. He was anticipating him (Doppio, mi caro) finding out he (we) were (are)–

“How do you take your eggs, gorgeous?” Niffty chirped.

Moonchild blinked out of his stupor, answering automatically. “Sunny side up, please.”

“Right away!” Niffty cracked the eggs on the side of the pan, Moonchild grimaced at the memory of a demoness’s skull cracking open, her brains slithering out with similar ease. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

His skull suddenly felt too full. They weren’t quite memories, these surges of understanding, rather flashes, impressions, knowledge, like the afterimage that results after closing one’s eyes quickly. Who he was, what he’d become, coursed through him. Images of horror, feelings of wrath and hatred and fear, things that should have horrified him, would have horrified Moonchild, were blunted with a queer sort of acceptance. He had inflicted such terrible pain on so many people, caused such mayhem and suffering, but he had his reasons. Vicious, psychotic reasons, but there they were. His past justifications for his actions were absurd, the ramblings of a murderous paranoiac, but they cushioned the terrible guilt he’d have felt otherwise, helped him quietly come to a revelation that had been just out of reach for the past 20 years: He had been a monster, and now he was in Hell.

Deserved to be in Hell.

_Belonged_ in Hell.

A plate slid in front of him, on it was six strips of bacon, four eggs, sunny-side up, a generous mound of greasy hashbrowns, and four blueberry pancakes. All thoughts of his sundry list of atrocities, his richly deserved damnation, was roughly ejected from his mind by a heady whiff of smokey bacon.

What?

He was _really_ hungry.

“Thank you, Miss Niffty.”

“Gotta feed my boys to keep ‘em big and strong,” she said, winking (blinking?). “I have to say, though, your girlfriend eats like a bird.”

“You’ve obviously never seen owls eat,” said Moonchild, smirking.

He picked up his plate and made for the table. ‘ _She thinks we’re dating… good. Maybe she’ll stop trying to spy on me in the shower._ ’

He took his seat next to Octavia, who was reading her grimoire while sipping some black coffee, a plate with a piece of jam on toast in front of her; she glanced at his mountain of food and smirked. “Peckish, are we?”

“A bit.” He set into his meal. “Not hungry?”

“I’m good,” she said, her eyes widening as she looked across the table. “What the…?”

Husk sat opposite her, idly flicking through a newspaper, oblivious to the world around him, the banner title and splash page picture catching her eye.

Octavia leaned over the table. “Excuse me, can I see that for a second?”

“Eh? Sure. I’m done with it.”

He handed her the paper and she began to pore over it. Husk turned to shoot Moonchild and inquisitive look, but the brawny fish-man was lost in his breakfast, and would be for a while.

“Angel…” Husk whispered to the spider-demon next to him, who was pour syrup and whiskey into his coffee in equal measure. “Who’s the chick?”

“Dunno, I thought she was witchoo.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Pretty, feathers, frowny. Figgered ya called yous up a hooer last night.”

“Angel, she’s, like, 15 or somethin’!” Husk spat, still whispering. “What kinda creep do ya take me for?!”

“Well, ya ain’t in Hell for teetotalin’, I don’t judge!”

“I can hear you, you know,” Octavia said, not looking up from the newspaper. “Owl-ears. And I’m 17, thanks. I’m with Moonie.”

Angel and Husk looked at each other, huge, toothy grins spreading across their faces, simultaneously turning to look at Moonchild. “ _Ooooooh~_ ”

“Good on ya, Moonie!” Husk said, smiling unabashedly.

“Mwhuh?” Moonchild mumbled, chewing, looking up from his now mostly-empty plate.

“That’s cute, that’s so fuckin’ cute!” Angel said, clapping his hands together lightly. “We always hoped ya two kids would get togedda–Who is she?”

“What?!” Octavia exclaimed, blushing. “Not like that!”

“She showed up in Moonie’s room the other night,” Niffty said, zipping about, refilling everyone’s coffee. “She slept over.”

“…” Octavia groaned, hiding behind the newspaper.

“Steak an’ eggs for my boy!” Husk commanded.

Niffty shot into a salute. “Comin’ right up!”

“What? What’s going on?” Moonchild said, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “I don’t need… actually, yes, please, thank you.”

“Feed the beast!” Angel said, popping up behind them, draping his arm over their shoulders. “So?”

“So?”

Angel nodded at Octavia, who was doing her best to disappear behind the newspaper. “How didja meet~?”

“Hmm? Oh, I work for her father,” Moonchild said, blithely. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening before. What’s going on?”

“The boss’s daughter, eh–” Husk’s eyes snapped open wide as the realization hit. “Ah, shit.”

“What’s up, Mittens?” Angel said, still grinning.

“Moonie works for Prince Stolas.” Husk said, hoarsely.

“Oh yeah, yer like his secretary or somethin’ ri–” Angel Dust’s head snapped over to the owl-demon glaring a hole into her newspaper. “Get th’fuck out.”

“Oh, here we go…” Octavia sighed.

Angel stepped back, his hands up, his eyes wide as dinnerplates. “Fugget I said anythin’. I didn’t touch ya! Whaddaya mean? I’ll just be–I’m just gonna–”

“It’s fine,” said Octavia, sipping her coffee. “I won’t have you tortured… this time.”

“She’s joking!” Moonchild broke in, laughing. “You’re joking, right?”

“Depends on how long we got these shippers on deck,” Octavia said, arching an eyebrow at Husk. “Steak and eggs? A bit presumptuous, I think.”

Husk fidgeted, avoiding her stare. “Uh…”

“To imply that Prince Stolas’ daughter was up to such activities, aloud, and in her presence no less!” Octavia grinned, her eyes flashing purple. “ _How impolite._ ”

Husk said nothing, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow.

“Via, stop playing with your food,” Moonchild said, chuckling.

“Fine.” Octavia sniffed the air, eyes going wide. “Oh hey! Something smells good!”

“Steak and eggs!” Niffty cheered, setting the plate down in front of Moonchild with a ‘bang’. “Four eggs, sunny-side up and 12 perfect ounces of red-rare ribeye, seasoned and seared to perfection by yours truly! Bon appétit!”

The steak steamed, juices both clear and red ran in rivulets from its surface, pooling about the slab of meat like blood. Moonchild and Octavia’s eyes shimmered as they loomed over the steak.

“Moonie… could I try a bit of that?” Octavia ventured.

Moonchild cut the steak evenly in half, taking the other half and the eggs for himself. Octavia picked up the 6 ounce steak and, knocking her head back, swallowed it whole.

“What?” She said to the baffled staff and patients, wiping the blood off her chin. “I’m an owl, we don’t really chew.”

“Good morning everyone!” Charlie said as she entered the room, her smile only momentarily faltering upon seeing Octavia, who herself shot the princess a glare over her mug.

“Charlotte.” 

“Octavia.” Charlie cleared her throat and resumed her cheerfulness. “So! As you can all see, we have a new guest! I want you all to give her a warm Happy Hotel welcome!”

Husk sipped his coffee. “Hey.”

Niffty waved. “Hi.”

Moonchild chewed. “Mmph.”

Angel examined his nails. “Whatever.”

“Wow. What a welcome.” Octavia deadpanned, looking around. “Is that confetti?”

“Ha ha! Anyway, I trust everyone’s had a good, bracing breakfast? It’s the most important meal of the day after all!” Charlie said, pointing at Moonchild. “Moonie! How are you feeling today?”

“Good!” He said, finishing off his steak. “Hungry. I guess I worked up an appetite the other night.”

A round of coughs and uncomfortable mutters circled the table.

“Ha ha ha… yeah…” Charlie’s smile returned in an instant. “Well! I hope you’re ready for today’s program! It’s the hobby-swap! We’ll make it stick this time, I promise!”

“Hobby-swap?” Octavia said. “What does a hobby-swap have to do with redemption?”

* * *

  
“…And snap!” Husk said, snapping his fingers and turning the ten of clubs into a five of hearts and a five of spades. “Ta-daa! Now, how did I do that?”

“Magic!” Niffty cheered.

“Bullshit!” Angel added.

“Bullshit magic,” Octavia grumbled.

A round of chuckles broke out throughout the circle, Moonchild, puffing out his chest somewhat, raised his hand. “I think I know.”

Husk noticed Moonchild’s sideways glance at the sour-faced owl and smirked. “Oh, do ya? Well, by all means, kid. Have at ‘er.”

He handed Moonchild the deck and, with uncharacteristic bravado, the young demon took them and shuffled the deck. “Here we go, here we go… there!”

Moonchild produced an eight of diamonds, showing it to all around. “As you can see, we have an eight of diamonds. Your standard card. Nothing up my sleeves, nothing in my hands…”

“Shit or git off the pot, kid,” Husk said, smiling as he noticed the flicker of genuine interest on the princess’ face.

Moonchild sighed and held the card out in front of him with both hands. “Now, all you have to do is call upon the Dark Gods of the Deep and _Cthulhu ftaghn!_ ”

He snapped both his fingers and in both hands was a four-card, one four of hearts and the other of clubs. Moonchild smiled at the round of impressed exclamations, his dazzling white shark-teeth visible in a confident smirk. Even Octavia looked impressed, a fact that made the young man glow.

“Perfect split-change,” Husk said, proudly. “How’d ya do that, Moonie?”

“Oh, I layered three cards on top of one another, two fours with an eight on top, when I snapped my fingers…” Moonchild held up his hand, revealing the eight of diamonds tucked away in his palm. “…I slid the top card away while distracting everyone with the other two.”

“No, I mean, you ain’t never touched a deck before last night. How’d you do it?”

“Ya used yer powers! Yer future vision!” Angel cried. “Cheater!”

“Yes, well, no, well, kind of,” said Moonchild, handing the deck back to Husk. “I used my past-vision. I can see 100 seconds into the past, but it’s not just like remembering. I can slow it down, reverse it, zoom in, zoom out, enhance, even see things from different perspectives than just my own. I can see the whole thing over and over and over again, that’s how I picked up the movements needed.”

“Cheater!” Angel reiterated.

“That’s really cool, Moonie!” Charlie said, clapping. “It’ll make picking up hobbies easier!”

“What, exactly, does all this have to do with redemption?” Octavia said. “Isn’t this place supposed to be, like, a rehab clinic or something?”

All heads turned to Charlie, who set her pen down on her notepad. “Kind of. Down here, the soul comes first, in that they inform the body. Things like drug addiction, or emotional imbalances, mental illness, that sort of thing, these can be worked out of the soul with the right kind of positive reinforcement!”

Octavia stared at Charlie for a moment, incredulous. “So, you can change people’s souls with… card tricks?”

“Well, there’s more to it than that, but I think it’s important to tailor treatment to the patient, help them through their journey while giving them wholesome alternatives to their sinful behaviors.”

Octavia nodded and set the newspaper down on the coffee table with a ‘slam’, on it was a splash page full-color photo of the ‘Red Nightmare’ dynamically emerging from a crowd of panicked demons, the ones closest to him reduced to raw meat and strips of fabric by a blur of claws and fists. The title read ‘ _Azathoth Abattoir: Who is this Sexy New Celebrity?_ ’

“Oh, it’s working great,” Octavia sneered. “Real wholesome. He’s on, what, the Fifth Level? Five grand buy-in? Let me guess, one of you geniuses thought ‘hey, the kid sees the future! Let’s take him to the most dangerous casino on the West Side, that just so happens to be run by the father of Charlotte’s archenemy, and cheat us up some money’!”

“Well–” Husk grumbled, stumbling over his words for a moment before deflating. “…Yeah.”

“What are you implying, Octavia?” Charlie said.

“Oh, was the subtext too subtle?” Octavia rising to her feet. “How about this: Moonchild never went to casinos before coming here, he never underwent mysterious transformations before coming here, and he sure as hell didn’t _slaughter hundreds of people with his bare-fucking-hands_ before coming here! Oh, and don’t think I didn’t notice the fucking _Radio Demon_ skulking about in the shadows!” She turned to the unusually deep, dark shadow cast by a nearby folding table. “Yeah, I can see you, asshole! Come out!”

A pair of red eyes and a yellow fanged grin flashed in the darkness, Alastor’s shape manifested out of a mass of writing vantablack tentacles as he rose from the abyss, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “ _Royals._ ”

Octavia jabbed a finger at Charlie, her eyes blazing. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Charlotte, but I won’t let you drag my friend into another fucking gangwar, like your last patient! Keep this stupid fucking scam away from Moonie!”

“Octavia!” Moonchild said, rising to his feet, his hands extended. “It’s not like that! Last night, it was an accident, we–”

“What were you even doing there, Moonie?” Octavia said, her hands balled into fists. “Some more ‘card tricks’? Or, what, did they pretty you up and put you out there for sale? Is that why you snapped?”

Angel Dust slowly backed away from the increasingly heated exchange, whispering: “ight imma head out…”

“Octavia, please!” Moonchild pleaded, setting his hands on her shoulder. “They’re my friends. This is all a big misunderstanding!”

“Friends?! Moonie! Friends don’t run friends over and take them home! Friends don’t drag friends to casinos and use them to cheat, or worse! Friends don’t hide in vents and perv on friends! Friends don’t expose their friends to the fucking! _Radio! Demon!_ ”

Alastor nudged Charlie with his elbow. “She has a point.”

“This isn’t normal, Moonie! This…” Octavia gestured at Moonchild’s body, then at the towering horror on the front page. “…That! You’re changing, Moonie, she’s doing something to you and I can’t let it go on!”

Charlie shot to her feet. “Octavia, you obviously care very much for Moonchild. And I know how strange this must all seem to you–”

“Oh, shut it, you blond bint!” Octavia snapped. “Smiling and playing nice, when really you just want to sucker people in for your pet projects, no matter who gets hurt or killed!”

Before Charlie could retort, Octavia wrapped one hand around Moonchild’s hip, pulling him into a tight embrace, raising her other hand. It glowed purple as a grimoire materialized in it. “We’re leaving!”

A shimmering portal opened up under the pair, the other side a busy street. With a yelp, Moonchild and the princess slipped into the vortex.

“Moonie!” Charlie cried, rushing to where they had been a moment earlier.

They were gone.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some CUTENESS next chapter!


	13. Complementarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's that time again...
> 
> This one's long, so buckle in!

  
Chapter 13: Complementarity

The air shimmered and a portal opened a small distance above a busy sidewalk in Imp City. Two demons fell out of the portal, deftly landing on their feet amid a throng of imps, the portal snapping shut an instant later.

“Ey!” An imp cried. “Watchit! Fekkin’ demons and their fekkin’ fancy magic…”

“Sorry, I’m not as good at that as Dad,” said Octavia, dusting herself off.

“What the Hell, Via?!” Moonchild said, pointing to where the portal was. “Take me back, right now!”

“No! Moonie, that place is bad for you, don’t you see?” She walked up to him and took his hand. “I don’t know what she has planned for you, but it can’t be good!”

“You don’t know that! Charlie’s been nothing but kind to me ever since we met! She took me in, fed me, she’s tried to help me at every turn!” Moonchild snatched his hand away from hers. “Take me back there, right now!”

“I can’t do that, Moonie,” Octavia said. “It’s dangerous, I can’t let you–”

“Let me?” Moonchild said, his face darkening with fury. “Let me! You can’t _let me?!_ ”

Octavia shrank back from him, shocked at the edge in his voice, the rage souring his perfect features. “Moonie?”

“God, you’re just like them! I should have known!” Moonchild growled, throwing up his hands.

“What do you mean?”

“Your parents!” He said, jabbing a finger at her. “Telling me what to do, making decisions for me! You just took me from the only people who ever cared about me without even asking how I felt! What I wanted! Did it even occur to you that I was where I wanted to be?! Did it?!”

“I-I didn’t mean to–” She stammered.

“I’m not your pet, Via! You can’t just whisk me away because you think you should! I’m tired of you fucking royals always controlling my life!” Moonchild stepped forward, looming over her, his eyes flashing green as he grew, his clothes popping at the seams. “That’s it! I’m done! I’m done with your father, your mother, with you! Your whole fucking family could do me a favor and stay out of my life!”

Octavia said nothing, eyes cast down to the sidewalk.

“Send me back, now,” Moonchild growled. “Send me back to the hotel and go home to your mother.”

A long pause hung in the air, her silence audible even over the crowd parting around them, when she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “…I can’t.”

“Fine.” He turned away from her. “I’ll walk.”

Her hand shot out and grabbed his. He turned to excoriate her some more, the words dying in his throat as he saw the tears spill down her cheeks. “I can’t go home. I confronted Mum the other night. About you, about what she’s been doing. She kicked me out. That’s why I spent the night, I had nowhere else to go.”

“Via…” Moonchild said, taken aback.

“And with Dad in trouble… that’s why he sent us away, because we’re in danger around him!” She cried. “I was alone, and scared, and I wanted to see you, my only friend. B-but then this happened, you’d changed so much and-and you’re so different and I got scared. Scared that maybe it was possible! Scared that you’d get redeemed, that you’d leave and I’d never see you again! And all that casino stuff, and-and the stupid hobby bullshit and-and… Look, I know i-it was selfish, and-and stupid and but I–”

She was silenced when he pulled her into a warm embrace, pressing his cheek against hers. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“You were doing so well, and I was happy for you. I am happy for you…” she whispered, her arms closing around his midsection. “I didn’t want to worry you with all my bullshit. I’ll send you back, and I’ll stay away if that’s what you want. I only want you to be happy, I just–”

“Shhh…” Moonchild soothed, stroking her head soothingly. “I’m sorry, Via. I didn’t mean what I said. You’re my best friend, too. If you need a place to stay, you can stay with me.”

She sniffled and smiled at him. “You think Charlie would let me, after that stunt I pulled?”

“Charlie’s the nicest, kindest person I’ve ever met,” Moonchild said, smiling gently. “If you need help, she’s there for you.”

He reached up and wiped her tears away, running a hand down her cheek. “Let’s head back, okay?”

“Uhm, actually,” she said, a bashful smile on her face. “I was meaning to mention, we need to get you some new clothes. Ones that fit.”

“Hmm?” Moonchild looked down at himself, large swathes of his skin visible through the popped seams of his pants and sweater; a passing imp loosed a wolf whistle as he walked by.

“Heh heh… yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

“C’mon, I have some money stashed away at Dad’s. Let’s grab it and head out.”

* * *

  
The palace was abandoned, just like it had been before, but Moonchild took notice that a few more things seemed to be askew. The rugs were rutted and a few tables had been swept clear, the candles and decorations and such strewn about on the floor. And there was a curious, musky smell in the air.

“What happened here?” Octavia said, looking around.

“Your dad was pretty drunk the last time I was over,” said Moonchild, stepping over a pewter chalice. “Maybe that has something to do with it?”

“Drunk? That doesn’t sound like Dad.” Octavia walked down the hallway, suddenly stopping, her eyes narrowing. “Someone’s here.”

Moonchild pulled up next to her, his voice low. “Stolas?”

“No. Someone else. Down the hall, in the kitchen.”

They quietly made their way down the hallway, the sound of clattering plates and cutlery now more distinct, the hum of the fridge as it was left open. The pair turned the corner and saw the red and white body of Blitzo, naked save for the towel around his shoulders, as he leaned into their fridge, a sandwich on a plate in one hand, a beer in the other.

He looked at them, his orange eyes wide, looking to all the world like a cat in a goldfish bowl. “Hey.”

“What the fuck!” Octavia exclaimed. “What are you doing here?! Where’s Dad? Why’re you naked–OH MY GOD YOU’RE NAKED!”

“Answering in no particular order: Yes, I am, in his room, fucking your Dad, and, well, I’m fucking your Dad.” Octavia clasped her hands over her eyes and turned away, disgusted. Blitzo leisurely walked over to the table and set the sandwich and beer down, wrapping the towel around his waist. “Question is, what are you doing here? Heard you were off with your mom or something. Some bullshit about ‘needing space’? So he called me over for a hooty-booty call!”

“Never say ‘hooty-booty call’ in my presence ever again!” Octavia moaned, pulling her hat over her eyes.

“Like you can talk, Owlet! Who’s the fetch slice of ahi behind you?” Blitzo said, eyeing Moonchild up and down. “Heh! Looks like Moonie, but hunkier. What? You like the look but not the package? You’re missing out, I hear the kid has a real nice cock!”

Moonchild sighed and set his hand to his face as Octavia silently glared at the grinning imp. Blitzo looked him up and down some more before turning back to Octavia. “So… you gonna introduce us? What are his rates? I ask because your Dad was all kinds of horny for a threeway with fishboy and I’m not closed off to the idea! You do threesomes, big fella?”

“Do you want to tell him?” Moonchild said.

“I want to kill myself,” said Octavia, utterly horrified.

“Sounds like him, too,” Blitzo said, sipping his beer.

“Via?”

“Give him a sec.”

Blitzo’s eyes snapped open as the realization hit, beer spraying from his mouth in a frothy torrent. “TIT-SHITTING DICK WAFFLES!! _MOONIE?!_ ”

Moonchild grunted and nodded at the stunned imp. “Hello, Blitzo.”

“What-but-you-how–” Blitzo streaked over, looking the muscular fish-demon over. “When did this happen?”

“Is Stolas here, Blitzo?” Moonchild said, an irritated curl in his lip. “I want to speak with him.”

“Good luck with that!” Blitzo chuckled, walking around Moonchild, drinking in the goods. “Between cock and cognac, the bird’s out like a light!”

“I’m going to throw up,” Octavia said, storming out of the room. “I’m going to go grab my things, we’re not staying here a second longer than we have to!”

“Prude!” Blitzo called out as she left, before turning back to Moonchild. “Gets that from her mother. Heh! I have to say, Moonie, you’re rockin’ that look! Got this ‘Fabio fucked Davy Jones’ thing going! You’re lucky I busted just a few minutes ago, otherwise this towel would be a tent, yannowhatimsayin! Ha ha ha!”

Moonchild said nothing, leaning against the doorframe and turning away from the leering imp.

Blitzo chuckled and jabbed his thumb at the door. “You and the princess, huh?”

Moonchild said nothing.

“No? Huh,” Blitzo reached over with his tail, tracing up Moonchild’s muscular legs and up to his belly. “I just figured, the way she looks at you…”

“Blitzo,” growled Moonchild, his shoulders tensing. “Shut up.”

Blitzo’s smile widened; a sore spot. He shrugged and walked up to the sulking hunk, tracing up his exposed abs with his fingers. “Hey, now! No need for that! Alls I’m saying is that she’s a damn fine-looking gal! A little weird and kind of a spook, but damn fine. And rich, too! Her dad already knows you and likes you (a lot), and her mom, well… Hey! Play your cards right and you can fuck the whole family! I bet you no-one’s ever notched that one on their bedpost! FYI, owls can swallow just about anything whole and have no gag reflex.”

Moonchild glared at the imp, crossing his arms across his barrel chest before turning away, saying nothing.

“She’s into you, kid, and you could do a helluva lot worse,” Blitzo said, getting close and whispering in his ear. “And if you don’t, someone else might.”

Moonchild’s lip fleered back from his razor-sharp shark-teeth, his hands clenching into fists.

Blitzo leapt back, chuckling good-naturedly. “Whoa there, Shamu! Don’t take it like that! I’m trying to help you!”

“I don’t need your help!” Moonchild spat. “Leave me alone!”

“Okay, I’m detecting some hostility,” Blitzo said, spreading his arms wide. “Hit me.”

Moonchild blinked, surprised. “What?”

“Look, we obviously have a little unresolved tension between us, and not the sexy kind either! So, in the interest of future naked funtimes, I invite you to hit me anywhere you like, as hard as you can!”

“You’re insane.”

“No no no… well, probably. But that’s besides the point! See, we’ve had this fun little back and forth for a few years now and somewhere along the way, you went and took it personally!”

“You once gave me a wet willy,” Moonchild growled, his eyes narrowing. “ _Without using your hands._ ”

Blitzo laughed and looked at the picture of the event on his phone, the look of horror and disgust on Moonchild’s face had lightened his mood more than once. “Wacky fun! But see, there you go, taking offense at my harmless antics!”

“…Where were you keeping that phone?”

“Youdon’twannaknow. Anyway! I want to bury the hatchet, make amends (maybe negotiate an owl spitroast) so we can be pals going forward! So, in the name of peace: You. Me. As hard as you can!”

Moonchild’s eyes went wide as Blitzo spread his arms, his eyes closed.

“Lay one on me, champ!”

His knuckles turned white, his fist squeezing so hard it trembled.

“Don’t hold back on my account! I can take a punch!”

Moonchild’s eyes flashed green, his muscles tensed and bunched.

“Just, uh, lay off the face, it’s my meal ticket.”

Moonchild wound up and roared, the air split with a thunderous crack as his fist broke the sound barrier, wreathed in a vapor cone. The fist burst from Blitzo’s back with a wet, crunching sound, spraying a mist of fine black blood over the wall behind him. Blitzo opened his eyes and locked gazes with an equally stunned Moonchild. They both looked down to see the larger demon’s arm buried in his midsection up to the elbow before looking back up at one another.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!” Blitzo shrieked.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOHMYGOD!!” Moonchild screamed.

* * *

Octavia shoved the grimoire into her purse, along with a few of her emergency credit cards. The sooner they got out of this whorehouse the better. She walked by her father’s room, listening for the soft snoring emanating from within.

‘ _This is all your fault…’_ She thought, bitterly. ‘ _Mum, Moonie, this investigation, it’s all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants. Now here you are, passed out drunk after fucking that same imp in your marriage bed while Mum and I hide like hunted dogs! Is that why you sent us away? So you could get dicked without getting caught?!_ ’

She felt like screaming.

She just wanted to be anywhere else.

She’d left Moonie alone with that pervy red dickhead for too long, who knows what they were getting up to.

There was a sound, loud and sharp, like a gunshot. Octavia rolled her eyes and set off down the hallway. “You two better not be fighting!”

As she approached the kitchen, she heard their voices overlapping, a bunch of indistinct, equally panicked garble that got clearer as she drew closer.

“What the FUCK, Moonie?!”

“I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry!” Came his reply. “It just sort of happened!”

“Stop fisting me!!” Blitzo moaned. “Pull it out!!”

“I’m trying! You’re clenching up!”

A loud, slurping squelch sounded, followed by a pained grunt and a sigh of relief.

“What the fuck is going on in here?!” Octavia said as she stepped into the kitchen.

Standing next to one another was Blitzo and Moonchild, the former with a massive hole clean through his torso, the latter with his arm stained with oily black imp-blood up to the elbow, clutched in his hand was what appeared to be a dog-treat.

“Blitzo, why is there a hole in you?!” She exclaimed. “Moonie, why are you covered in blood… and holding a dog-treat?”

Moonchild looked down at the bloody Milkbone clutched in his hand. “Uhhh…”

Blitzo’s tongue shot out and scooped the treat up from Moonchild’s hand and swallowed it. It promptly popped out of the hole in his stomach. “Male bonding. Guy stuff. You wouldn’t understand, tits.”

“Are you… okay?” Octavia said, pointing at the gaping, bloody hole in his guts. “I can see your insides…”

“Aw, I’m fine, thanks kid!” He said, reaching down. “Hold on a sec. Ha! Here we are!”

The gored imp produced a small plastic container, holding it up to his ear and rattling it. Blitzo popped one of the small orange glowing capsules into his mouth and chewed, grimacing at the flavor.

“What are those?” Moonchild said, curious.

“And where were you keeping them?” Octavia said, disgusted.

“Dunno, but if you pop one you heal up fast from just about anything, see?” He pointed to his midsection and the hole there was already shrinking shut. “They cost a shit-ton, though. A grand a pop!”

“ _Souls-2-Go: Argent You Glad I Didn’t Say Banana_?” Moonchild said, reading the container.

“Orange is their best flavor, but it still tastes like ass!”

“Blitzy~” Came a groggy voice from down the hall. “I heard a noise. And voices. Is someone here?”

The three turned to see Stolas shamble into view, his eyes heavily bagged, his feathers ruffled from sleep and other activities, wearing nothing but a bridle and a saddle.

“Oh my shit…” Octavia groaned in revulsion.

“Octavia!” Stolas exclaimed, hurriedly doffing the bridle and grabbing a tapestry off the wall, covering himself. “W-what are you doing here? You should be with your mother in the other estate!”

“Well, I’m not,” Octavia said, reaching out and taking Moonchild’s hand. “C’mon, Moonie. Let’s leave Dad to his ‘important business’.”

“Moonie? What–” Stolas looked over to the now-very familiar fish-demon his daughter was clinging to, his eyes snapped open wide. “Moonie?!”

Moonchild smiled and waved. “Hello, Stolas.”

“I-whuh-you… _hoot_ …”

“Are people ever going to stop reacting like that, or should I just get used to it?”

Octavia dragged the blood-splattered demon out of the kitchen. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

Stolas snapped out of his stupor and followed after them. “Via, wait! You have to return home, it’s not safe for you to be–”

“And whose fault is that?!” Octavia hissed, jabbing her finger at her father, eyes blazing. “This is all your fault! All of it! Mum, Moonie, Uncle Sally, it’s all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants!”

Stolas recoiled, stunned. “Via?”

“That’s right, I know all about it!” Octavia said, pointing at Blitzo. “This shithead helped some guys steal the Saint’s Corpse with your grimoire! Now Uncle Sally’s lurking about, trying to make sure our own family doesn’t kill Mum and I to get back at you!”

“Starfire, please, let me explain.” Stolas said, reaching out for her.

“Don’t touch me!” Octavia snapped, slapping his hand away. “All this time, I thought you loved us! Loved me! Cheating on Mum was bad enough, ruining my home-life, but you didn’t stop there! Did you know what she was doing to Moonie because of you? How she was hurting him?! Raping him?!”

“What? No, that’s not–She was–I thought–” Stolas turned to Moonchild, his eyes pleading. “Moonie, explain this to her!”

Moonchild shrank back, turning away. Stolas blinked, a look of horror slowly spreading across her face. “…Moonie, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Oh, stop it!” Octavia snarled, stepping between the two of them. “Don’t even pretend like you didn’t know! She vented on him because of what you were doing to her, and you knew! You knew and you let it happen anyway because it let you go on fucking your favorite imp!”

“That’s not–”

“JUST SHUT UP!” She roared, tears streaming down her cheeks. “FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE STOP _**PRETENDING**_ LIKE YOU CARE ABOUT ANYONE OTHER THAN _**YOURSELF!**_ ”

“Octavia, please…”

“…I hate you.”

Stolas gasped and staggered back as though struck.

“I never want to see you again,” she said, her voice low. “All you do, all you’ve ever done, is hurt the people around you. Your family, your job, my life… you ruin everything you touch. Goodbye.”

With that Octavia summoned a portal. She took Moonchild by the wrist and pulled him through.

The fish demon looked over his shoulder, his expression crestfallen. “Goodbye, Stolas.”

The portal shut, leaving the room silent as a crypt.

“You have a brother named Sally?” Blitzo snorted. “Stupid name.”

Stolas leaned against the wall, his expression blank, eyes wide. His long, willowy legs gave out as he slid down to the floor. “She’s right. I’ve ruined everything…”

“You, uh, you alright, Stolas?”

“No. I’m rather not alright.” Stolas leaned forward, his head in his hands. “I need to be alone, Blitzy. I deserve to be alone… Thank you for putting up with me all this time, it can’t have been easy.”

“Stolas?” Blitzo’s brow furrowed, genuine concern crept in around the edges. “Heh! Hey, man, come on. She didn’t mean all that, she’s just a teenager! They say horrible stuff all the time! Shit, I’m lucky words don’t kill, because my Loony–”

“Your obligation has been fulfilled, Blitzo,” Stolas said, his tone cold and stern. “The grimoire is yours for the foreseeable future. Goodbye.”

With a wave of his hand, a portal opened up behind the imp and he pushed him through out onto the street.

Stolas curled into a ball on the floor and sobbed quietly.

* * *

Blitzo stumbled back onto the street outside the estate, clad in nothing but a bloodstained towel. “What? Hey! C’mon, I still haven’t shown you the Rusty Venture!”

A mother imp with a baby stroller stormed by, a disgusted look on her face.

“Fuck, Karen! Do you follow me around all day for your outrage fix?!” Blitzo said, flipping off the offended mother before turning back to the estate. “At least give me back my shit! I don’t need another ‘indecent exposure’ court summons to ignore!”

A smaller portal opened up and his shirt and pants fell in a heap on the sidewalk.

“Thanks! And don’t think I’m not gonna keep bugging you about this!” Blitzo called out to the palace. “My therapist always says ‘solitude is only okay in small doses, but can quickly become a dependency! Now, please get out of my bathroom closet!’ So, yeah, I’ll be back!”

Blitzo’s phone screamed as he gathered he clothes, Loona was calling.

“Heya Loony! How’s–Loony? Are you crying? What’s–hold on, hold on, slow down! Who? Who said what? Me? Who? Loony, please I can’t under–It’s okay, sweetheart, daddy’s here, I’ll come get you! You just stay put, baby! I’ll see you five!”

Blitzo was deathly quiet as the line went dead.

“Someone… some _fucking corpse_ made my baby cry!” Blitzo’s eyes narrowed and glowed, his aura flaring deep scarlet and purple as he crushed the phone in his grasp. He reached into his pocket, producing his keys. With a tap of the fob, his customized red and black Mustang Mach 1 roared around the corner, tired screaming as it ground to a stop in front of him. “I’m gonna track that fucker down, _nail him to the wall, **and peel his dick like a fucking banana!**_ ”

Karen loosed an affronted gasp as she strolled by, sticking her nose in the air.

“Oh, get fucked, Karen!” Blitzo sneered as he roared off in his demonic muscle car.

* * *

  
Octavia dragged Moonchild through the portal and out onto the street. Moonchild followed after her as she dragged him down the street.

“Via?”

She kept on walking, her grip around his wrist tightening, almost painful.

“Octavia!”

Octavia turned around and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing quietly. Moonchild returned the hug and held her tightly as she calmed down.

“Via, it’s okay,” he whispered. “Your father–”

“Don’t,” she said in his ear, her voice hitching. “I don’t want to hear another thing about my fucked up family. I just want to go.”

“Okay.”

The crowd parted around the young demons as they held the embrace. After a few minutes Octavia push away from him, smiling as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Thanks Moonie.”

He returned the smile. “I’m here for you, Via.”

“I know. It means a lot.” She laughed and held his face in her hands before running her fingers through his hair, pulling him into another quick hug. “Now, let’s get you a new wardrobe.”

* * *

Octavia thumbed through the magazine in the fitting area of Stylish Occult. That particular issue of Toff Goff was a few years out of date, but she still found the articles regarding the importance of non-color coordination to be informative, and the piece on the potential of small swatches of color for the sake of tasteful contrast was provocative. Also, the models weren’t hard to look at either.

Her father would have thought so, too.

‘ _No. None of that, Via. You’re already dangerously close to being a full-blown stereotype!_ ’ She thought to herself, sighing. ‘ _What do you mean, “close”? Rich, spoiled goth girl with daddy issues who goes therapy-shopping. It’s too late, may as well embrace it and date someone Dad hates… and can’t have horribly murdered._ ’

“Via, are you sure about this?” Came Moonchild’s voice from the other side of the door. “This honestly doesn’t feel like these fits me any better than my old clothes.”

“You’d be surprised how much leather pants stretch. Come on out, let’s see,” Octavia replied.

“Alright…”

Octavia turned back to the magazine when a that little voice inside her spoke up again. ‘ _Hey, Via._ ’

‘ _Yes, Via?_ ’

‘ _Ever think that_ maybe _taking the guy we’re conflicted about being hot for and dressing him up like a sexy goth boy_ might _be a bad idea?_ ’

Her eyes snapped up to the door. “Oh, no…”

The door swung open and Moonchild stepped out. He was wearing a pair of snug-fitting leather-front black denim jeans from which two suspenders hung slack, the sliver zippers running up and down the legs and groin were unzipped, looking like tiny slivery teeth lining the maws of the let-outs. On top he was nominally clothed in an equally snug fish-net tanktop, his arms bare save for the studded leather bands about his outrageously defined biceps and wrists. Even his hair had changed from the formerly wavy thicket of pink tentacles to an oily-black wave-like side-sweep across his forehead, his bangs reaching his mid-cheek on one side. He’d even changed the color of his lips to a deep, glistening black.

“How do I look?”

Octavia stared, her eyes wide. “ _Hoot._ ”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, uh,” she blinked, eyes darting about. “I, uh, I said ‘hot’. …Wait…”

“I guess I just have to get used to it.”

“Good! You look good!” She said, laughing sheepishly before pointing at her hair. “I like this. I didn’t know you could change its color.”

“Yeah, it’s handy.” The mass shifted switching through a half dozen different styles, from long, to short-cut, to messy, to trim, all the while flashing through dozens of different colors and patterns. “I can do all kinds of things with it!”

‘ _Mmph–I bet you can,_ ’ Octavia thought to herself, blushing. “That’s, uh, really cool.”

“Well, if you think it looks good–”

“ _I do._ ”

“I’ll take it! But I’d like a few ensembles that are a little more, uh, casual.” Moonchild gestured at his torso, the fishnet top actually accentuating his muscle definition. “Something I can go eat lunch in.”

“Yum…” Octavia muttered.

“Excuse me?”

Octavia started, willing her eyes away from him. “Oh! Uh, thoughts on lunch?”

“I could eat,” he said his eyes lighting up upon seeing a studded black leather jacket. “Via! Here! How do I look?”

‘ _This was an awful idea…_ ’ Octavia thought to herself, watching him don the jacket. ‘ _A wonderful, awful idea._ ’

“ _Hoot~_ ”

“Great! I’ll take it!”

* * *

The pair made their way through Imp City, Moonchild’s initial get-up replaced with a more toned-down version of his old outfit, a well-fitted black sweater with a low-cut v-neck and a pair of black skinny-jeans.

“So, there’s more than one grimoire?” Moonchild said, gesturing at the heavy book in her purse.

“Oh yeah, this is an old edition,” she said, levitating it out and opening it. “It’s in, like, super old Babylonian, so while it can travel Hell and the stars well enough, it’s really shit at getting anywhere on Earth. Like, say you wanted to go to a specific city in America, you’d have to know the coordinates in longitude and latitude, then translate that into ancient Babylonian, for which you have to then divide by four for minutes and seconds to make usable coordinates, by the way, and just kind of wing it from there. It’s really clunky and super inaccurate, but it makes traveling Hell easier.”

“Let me guess,” Moonchild said, tapping his chin. “That’s because it was written back when there were maybe fifty cities worth visiting on Earth?”

“More or less,” said Octavia, putting the book back. “Dad gave Blitzo the newest edition grimoire because, well…”

“Blitzo.”

“Right. He’d probably drop his dumb ass into the sun with this thing.”

They walked in silence for a few seconds, it was Moonchild who spoke up. “Via…”

“Don’t. I don’t want to talk about it. Not today,” said Octavia, smiling at Moonchild. “We both need a break from my batshit family life. Today’s about you, Moonie.”

Moonchild smiled, slowly and gently reaching out, taking her hand in his. Octavia blushed and returned the action, giving him a soft squeeze. The two almost imperceptibly moved closer together, a warm glow almost visible in the air around them.

Moonchild’s smile faded as something flashed behind his eyes. He abruptly pulled Octavia into an adjoining alley, stopping once they were well within the filth-strewn alleyway.

“Moonie?” Octavia said, still smiling. “What’re we doing in here?”

Moonchild’s features were set, hard and focused. “We’re waiting.”

“For what?”

“Well, well!” Came a familiar voice. “Wouldja look at that!”

Moonchild and Octavia turned around to see a trio of demons standing in the mouth of the alley, a reptilian, a caprine, and a towering ogre-like creature.

“The one that got away!” The Caprine sneered. “And his bird.”

“Fishie’s been hittin’ the gym!” The Reptilian said, flexing mockingly.

“Sweet gains,” the Big One said, nodding. “More meat.”

“What’s Lent got to say on bird?” The Reptilian gurgled.

“No-go,” said the Big One. “She’s all yours.”

“Ooooh goodie~”

“So, we finally caught up witcha,” said the Caprine, starting forward. “Ain’t you gonna run?”

Moonchild strode towards him. “I’m done running.”

“Oh ho?” The Caprine chuckled, turning to his friends and jabbing a thumb at Moonchild. “You approach me?”

“You afraid?” Moonchild sneered, gesturing at the other two. “Need your back-up dancers to catch a fish?”

“Moonie…” Octavia said, quietly.

“Via.” Moonchild turned to her, smiling. “It’s okay.”

While his attention was drawn, the Caprine lunged forward, aiming a devastating headbutt to Moonchild’s ribs. With the flair of a bullfighter, Moonchild pirouetted out of the way, landing a light slap to the back of his head. The Caprine skidded to a stop, planting his hands on the ground before unleashing a blisteringly swift backwards axe-kick. Moonchild took a leisurely step back, the alligator skinned boot a blur as it missed him by bare millimeters.

“Hey, you’re pretty quick!” The Caprine said, smiling despite the clear confusion in his eyes. “But you ain’t getting you or your bird outta here by dodgin’.”

Moonchild rolled his eyes. “Blah blah blah.”

The Caprine growled and streaked forward, right hook, left hook, chop, straight punch, jab, Moonchild had his hands in his pockets, ducking and weaving around the fast, expertly thrown punches, his expression flat, bored even.

“Stay still or fight back, you pussy!” The Caprine aimed a snap-kick at Moonchild’s head, which he ducked, seamlessly morphing it into a bonecrushing axe-kick. Moonchild stepped off to the side as the demon’s heel smashed into the 100kg steel manhole cover, crumpling it like tinfoil.

“Okay.”

Moonchild lightly kicked at his assailant’s outstretched leg, sending his heel skidding across the debris strewn ground, pulling the Caprine into a sudden, wrenching split, a sharp ripping sound echoed off the walls.

“I hope that was your pants.”

The Caprine roared in fury and whirled his legs about, sweeping out at Moonchild’s legs. The fish-demon calmly hopped up, the kick missing his legs by bare centimeters. The Caprine spun as he launched to his feet, aiming a spinning back-fast at Moonchild’s head.

He smiled as his fist bore down on him. ‘ _Can’t dodge me in mid-air, fish!_ ’

The Caprine’s head snapped back as something impossibly fast smashed into his face, stars exploding behind his eyes. When his vision cleared an instant later, Moonchild was tilted backwards, his own punch streaking through the air, just barely missing his chin. The Caprine spun about, stumbling as he tried to regain his footing. Once he was sure on his feet, he turned around, gasping when he saw Moonchild standing scant inches away.

“You going to call for back-up?” Moonchild asked, his tone frigid. “Or are you going to stand there and bleed?”

A thin rivulet of blood dripped from his split lip, streaking down his chin. The Caprine snarled, but was smiling internally. While they were dancing, Big One had been creeping up behind them while Reptilian slithered up on the bird-girl and clasped a hand over her beak, a seraphic blade to her throat.

“You don’t scare me, fish!” Caprine spat. “Yer fast, but ya ain’t got what it takes to win. Never did! And you know why?”

“Why?”

The Caprine smirked.“Yous a bitch.”

A fist the size of a watermelon whistled as it bore down on its target, the tennis ball-sized knuckles fixed to cave the fish-demon’s skull in like a rotten pumpkin.

“What does that make you?”

Moonchild’s head wove out of the way and the Big One’s fist smashed into the Caprine’s face, his snout collapsing with a sound like a crumpling beer can. The Caprine was sent sprawling backwards, tumbling end-over-end until coming to a stop some ways down the alleyway, his legs sticking straight up before limply falling to the ground with a thud.

“Hey, nice punch.” Moonchild said, looking over his shoulder at the shocked ogre-demon. “I think you got him.”

The Big One bellowed and unleashed a flurry of punches and swipes, Moonchild smirked, his arms crossed as he ducked and weaved. “So, Lutheran, right? Tell me, did you become a cannibal before or after coming to Hell?”

“Die!”

“Unlikely.” Moonchild ducked and kicked out, hooking the giant about the ankle and yanking as he overextended. “Strange that you’re a murderous cannibal that adheres to a faith so devoted to scripture.”

The Big One stumbled forward and smashed into a small hill of garbage, disappearing under an avalanche of filth.

“I mean, wasn’t that the whole point of Martin Luther’s protest? The selective use of scripture? I just find it odd that a practicing protestant in Hell would pick and choose the aspects of his faith that suit him to justify or excuse his shortcomings.”

The Big One burst from the garbage, his eyes glowing red with hate. “What are you, a papist?!”

“Yes, actually.”

“Well, then, why don’t you go fuck some of the kids at Belladonna’s Orphanage, you God-damned mackerel snapper?!”

Moonchild’s eyes went wide. “What did you say?”

The Big One’s hands shot out, clasping Moonchild’s head, his blunt, meaty fingers digging into his scalp. “I’m gonna crush your head like an egg and eat you raw like sushi, Pope-fucker!”

Moonchild’s eyes glowed green, the tentacles on his head extruding through the ogre’s fingers, wrapping about them. “ _What did you say?!_ ”

The tentacles went taut, squeezing and crushing, sinking into flesh and bone like putty, the ogre’s hands rendered mangled tatters of flesh and bone in an instant. The huge demon howled in agony and stumbled backward, the bloody ribbon-like remains of his paws dangling limply from his wrists.

“You sonuva–”

–He was on his back, his legs, now terminating in bloody stumps at the knee, waved about in the air. “Bitch? Dear God…”

Moonchild loomed over him, growing with each passing second. Eight feet of red, sea-stinking rage, his eyes glowing like a demented lighthouse from a wild patch of tentacles, his clothing stretched tight over his expanding muscular body.

“TELL ME,” Moonchild roared, his voice a flanging, feral rasp. “WHAT DID YOU SAY? THAT NAME! WHAT WAS THAT NAME?!”

“B-Belladonna? S-she’s a demoness who runs a Hell-born orphanage in East-Central!” The Big One whimpered, trying to shimmy away on his elbows before Moonchild effortlessly picked up off the ground. “P-please! I-I-I–”

–His skull burst as his head was dashed against the asphalt, his body now a contorted mass barely recognizable as the demon from before, subjected to boundless fury between the erased sections time.

“Holy shit.”

The partially feral sea-demon spun about to see a shocked Reptilian still holding an equally shocked Octavia. The Reptilian started, his eyes wide, and pressed the blade against Octavia’s neck. “Check yerself, Fish! I-I spent a thousand souls on this blade! Pure Seraphim Steel! U-unless ya want yer bird here to get a new cock-hole, y-you’ll-you’ll–”

“Octavia…” Moonchild said, regressing to his default form. “I-I’m sorry you had to see that. I lost control for a second there.”

“It’s cool,” she said, her tone flat and conversational. “We all lose it once in a while. What was that about, though?”

“Whuh…”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Hey!”

“I’m all ears if you ever want to talk about it.”

“Hey!” The Reptilian growled, pressing the blade to her throat. “Gotta hostage here! I’ll kill her!”

“Oh, right,” Moonchild grunted, grimacing at his now stretched-out clothes. “Octavia, take care of that, will you?”

“What? And rob you of your chance to look all heroic?” She said, smiling wryly. “Oh Moonie! My knight in shining armor!”

He smiled at this. “Stop playing with your food, Via.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “ _Fine_.”

Octavia reached up and took his wrist in her talons, effortlessly twisting his hand away from her in a string of brittle, meaty snaps. As the Reptilian howled in pain and shock, the demonic princess braced her forearm at his elbow and, with about as much effort as a weaver might bend a reed, folded his arm backwards in a small fusillade of snaps and crunches, guiding the useless limb over her shoulder, plunging the shining blade into the Reptilian’s throat. She stepped away from him as his screams turned into gurgles, pulling the knife out and examining it as the demon collapsed under the weight of his agony.

“You spent a thousand souls on this?” Octavia said, brandishing the bloody knife as she stood over the tormented but very-alive Reptilian. “I think you should ask for a refund.”

She ran her talon along the blade, bending it like rubber until it curled in on itself, before tossing it into the trash.

“Say, Via,” Moonchild said, strolling up behind her. “Does he look like one of those flying lizards to you?”

She looked over at him, seeing the playful smirk on his face. “You mean like those ones that glide with the little flap under their arms?”

“The same.”

Octavia produced the ancient grimoire, her hand glowing. “Only one way to find out.”

A portal opened up under the Reptilian, on the other side was a bird’s eye view of the city from several kilometers above. The hapless demon gurgled a squawk that might have been a scream as he fell down into the sky high above.

“That was fun,” Octavia said, turning to Moonchild. “But what was that all about? What does ‘Belladonna’ mean to you?”

“It’s…” Moonchild sighed, running his hand through his hair. “It’s a long story.”

“I got time,” Octavia said, taking his arm in hers and pulling herself close. “Talk about it over lunch?”

“If it’s all the same to you, can we head back to the Hotel?” Moonchild said, somberly. “I have some things I really need to discuss with Charlie.”

“Yeah…” Octavia’s head swiveled around at a sound. “Oh, hey. Goat-guy’s up.”

Moonchild turned to see Caprine shakily getting to his feet, his eyes blinking through mass of blood and pulp that was the remains of his face. The demon’s eyes shot down to the remains of his oversized companion and his nerve broke. He spun on his heels and scrambled away down the alley.

“He’s getting away.”

A rapidly encroaching scream drew their eyes upward as the Reptilian streaked downwards, landing on top of the fleeing Caprine in a mass of limbs and blood.

“Actually,” Moonchild said, turning Octavia back down the alley, towards the street. “Can we grab some take-out? I’ve worked up an appetite.”

“I hear you,” she replied, patting belly. “The smell of all this blood is making me hungry.”

“…Is it bad that I find that hot?”

* * *

The view from the top of the Hotel was surprisingly pretty. The endless skyline of the city stretched out of miles, a never-ending sea of lights occasionally breaking out into glowing copses of skyscrapers ranging from mundane to eldritch in design.

Moonchild looked down at the ‘authentick Italian’ take-out they’d decided to try. He’d gotten what was he guessed passed for fettuccini in West-Central.

The noodles were moving.

One of them just winked at him.

Whatever.

He stabbed his fork into the squealing mass and rolled up a ball, hungrily slurping it down.

“How is it?” Octavia said, blowing on a steaming dumpling.

“Whatever it is, it’s not fettuccini Alfredo,” Moonchild mumbled through a mouthful. “Tasty, though!”

“Yeah, I told you ordering the cream sauce in Hell was asking for trouble.”

“Like the meat sauce would be any safer?”

“Touché.”

Octavia plopped a culurgiones into her mouth and swallowed it whole, Moonchild cocked his head and smirked. “Do you, like, taste what you eat?”

Octavia chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Yes, Moonie, owls enjoy food. Big shocker.”

“But, I mean, you don’t chew,” he said, pointedly chewing his ‘noodles’.

“So?”

“So, you can’t fully enjoy the flavors of what you eat. Chewing mixes all the flavors of all the ingredients together, allowing them to compliment each other. If you swallow something whole, you’re just tasting the outside, right?”

“Kind of,” said Octavia, gesturing at the dumpling on her fork. “See, after we swallow, it goes into the gizzard, where it kind of gets mixed up, the indigestible stuff is separated, and then it gets digested. We can kind of taste when it’s in the gizzard, though it’s more like a smell, I think.”

“Oh, cool.” Moonchild examined his forkful. “Separates the indigestibles, huh? That would imply any of this is digestible.”

Octavia laughed and leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Moonchild blushed slightly, clearing his throat. “What for?”

“Taking you from here, this place,” she said, setting her hand on his leg. “What you did back there, with those thugs… I mean, except for that last bit, the Moonchild I knew never could have stuck up for himself like that. This place is… weird, but I think it’s good for you. I just let my bullshit get all mixed with your life and–”

“It’s okay, Via. Really, I forgive you. I had fun today, and if there’s any way I can help you with your problems, you just let me know, okay?”

“That’s just it, though,” she said, pulling herself close. “You’ve always been there, to listen, to talk, all that stuff. But… I realized today, I don’t know anything about you. Like, earlier, when you almost lost control. Or last night, at the casino? What does ‘Belladonna’ mean to you?”

“Well, it means ‘beautiful woman’ in Italian.”

“Moonie.”

“It’s also another name for nightshade.”

“ _ **Moonie.**_ ”

“Right, right…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… a long story.”

“My schedule’s clear,” she said, looking him in the eye. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m here for you.”

Moonchild smiled and nodded. “Okay. Where to begin? Uh, well, I was born in 1967, on an island off of Sardinia…”

Octavia sat and listened as Moonchild retold the tale of his bizarre, tragic life. The atrocities his other half committed, the cause of their fracture, all of it. That such a horrible thing happened to so kind a soul galled her, roused in her that familiar temper that she’d likely inherited from her mother. He’d endured so much pain, between birth and life and death and damnation, it was a small miracle he was lucid at all! What kind of God damns a man for the sins of his trauma-induced mental illness?!

“Oh, Moonie…” she said, pulling him into a warm hug. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“Hey,” he said, shrugging. “Until last night, neither did I. Not consciously, at least. Last night, though, I let him out to save myself and regained control! I’ve never been able to do that. And just like that, all the memories I’d been suppressing came rushing back. I finally know what I did to get down here!”

“What? Moonie, you can’t blame yourself for what that other guy did!” Octavia exclaimed. “That wasn’t you, that was–”

Moonchild shook his head, smiling gently. “No, Via. We’re connected, him and I. My soul committed those sins, killed so many people… I deserve to be down here. But that’s the point! I have to own up to what I did, I need to… I dunno, reconcile with him, merge with him, heal this split in my identity before I can even think about redemption. Only when we’re together, when we’re healed, can we work towards being a better person.”

“I guess… ach, this so weird!”

Moonchild nodded and rolled his eyes. “Welcome to my world.”

“So…” Octavia began, unsure of how to broach the question. “Who’s Belladonna?”

He flinched at the name, his smile vanishing. “That was my Nanny’s name.”

“Oh…” Her eyes snapped open wide. “ _Oh_. Moonie…”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to go on some rampage… probably,” Moonchild said, smile returning, albeit a little more sardonic. “Charlie would want me to forgive her or something.”

“Well, I think that the best thing for your redemption would be to confront your abuser…” Octavia said, her eyes glowing red. “ _…And skin that bitch alive._ ”

“The other guy would probably agree with you.” Moonchild laughed and draped his arm across her shoulders. “That’s probably not great for the whole damnation thing, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“This other guy,” said Octavia, swallowing another dumpling. “Does he have a name?”

“Yeah, it’s…” Moonchild sighed and offered a bashful smile. “Diavolo.”

“Diavolo,” Octavia said, her expression flat. “He named _himself_ ‘Diavolo’?”

“Yeah…”

“Psh!” She scoffed, leaning back and rolling her head back. “Twat.”

“I know! Bad enough he’s a violent paranoid psychopath, he’s also an edgy douche,” said Moonchild said, laying back on the room, taking in the sky. “It’s weird. I know I have to get well before I can seek redemption, but… I dunno. Will I still be me when I do? What if I’m not strong enough to maintain my identity when we merge? Would I still be Moonchild? _Am_ I still Moonchild? I’ve changed so much so quickly, how can I even think of myself as the same–”

Octavia leaned over him, her hand on the tarmac beside his head. She stared down at him, a serene smile on her exquisite face, her eyes glowing warmly.

“Via?”

The owl princess craned her neck down and kissed him lightly on his soft, full lips. The warmth, the connection, at her touch something surged within him, causing his heart to race and his cheeks to flush deep pink. When she broke the kiss she leaned back, drinking in his stunned, flustered expression as he sat back up, blinking and trying to formulate a response, _any_ response.

“You’re still Moonie,” she said, chuckling softly.

“I-I, uh, well, I s-suppose that’s, uh, one way to, uh…” His voice broke in an adorable squeak as he centered himself, trying to pass it off a throat clearing. “Ahem! Uh, what was, I mean, why did you…?”

“I was curious, I wanted to see what would happen,” she said, aloof and self-satisfied, internally tickled at the hunky demon’s flustered stumbling. “And I wanted to. I like you.”

Moonchild smiled and blushed even brighter, the air around him seemed to glow and sparkle. “I, uh, I like you too, Octavia.”

“Hmm."

The pair sat in silence for a while, both of them positively glowing, backdropped by the infernal city.

“So, uh,” Octavia said. “This is the part where you kiss me back.”

“Oh! Uh, right!"

Moonchild awkwardly leaned over, pushing his face over to hers. Their eyes met for a moment and, simultaneously, they both burst out laughing. Moonchild and Octavia leaned on one another as they succumb to gales of helpless laughter.

“You’re such a dork!” Octavia said, play-punching his shoulder.

“Says something about your taste in men,” he retorted.

“Yeah…” She locked eyes with him. “I like dorks.”

“Uh, did you know that ‘dork’ means–” Moonchild said, slowly leaning in.

She raised her hand to his face, drawing closer. “Shush.”

Their mouths met and the air glowed. Like a circuit being completed, this rush, this energy, it was intoxicating. The young lovers deepened the kiss, embracing one another, they had to touch more, to feel more, to get as close as possible.

Moonchild broke the kiss and held her tight, his chin rest on her head as she pressed her face into his muscular chest. “I love you, Via.”

“I love you, Moonie.”

He looked away from her, catching movement out the corner of his eye. Across the roof, peering out from behind the door to the access stairway, was Charlie, Angel Dust, Husk, and Niffty. Charlie looked close to tears, her hands failing to cover the huge smile on her pale, blushing face. Angel Dust grinned a gold-toothed grin, giving Moonchild six thumbs up. Husk smiled proudly, nodding his head slowly, shooting Moonchild a wink. Niffty reached up and snapped her fingers in his face, rubbing her thumb and forefingers together. Husk and Angel rolled their eyes and each handed her a crisp fifty soul bill.

‘ _Go away!_ ’ Moonchild mouthed to them, shooing them away with his free hand.

Charlie nodded, silently ordering the others to leave. Husk and Angel shot him parting looks of support before vanishing behind the door. Niffty continued to watch, a lascivious grin on her impish one-eyed face. Six sets of hands reached out from behind the door and yanked her back. The door closed with a muted click.

Moonchild sighed in relief and looked out at the city, reveling in the warm body pressed against his as he stroked her hair.

“They were watching us, weren’t they?” Octavia said, muffled by his shirt.

“…Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LunarOwl shippers, your charter cruise has checked in.
> 
> Wasn't that cute? Well, I hope you all enjoyed that emotionally heavy fluff chapter, because poop's about to pelt the propeller.


	14. Coniunctio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter
> 
> Stuff happens

Chapter 14: Coniunctio

Charlie hummed to herself as she set about organizing the hobbies. Hobby-Swap Attempt #3: This Time, It's Personal! Clay, painting, Lego, karaoke, the works! Now that

Moonie had, erm, 'pacified' the princess, he was sure to make progress in his therapy! Not to mention watching those two kids bond over silly games and crafts was going to be absolutely adorable.

The usual suspects filtered in over time. First Vaggie and Angel, they were arguing over something, as usual.

"C'moooon, Snatch!" Angel moaned. "If we's grounded, can't we at least call in some good times? I know some girls what'll rev even yer icy engine, and they dance for cheap!"

"No, Angel, even if we did have the money!"

"Howzit we's got two fuckin' princesses under this roof, and we's still a buncha broke chumps?!" Angel looked over at the spread, rolling his eyes. "Really, Chuck? Hobby-swap again?"

"No…" Charlie said, wagging her finger. "There were interruptions the last two times. They didn't count. We're going to find something for Moonie to express himself with if it kills me!"

"Plus," Vaggie said, smirking. "Watching the the lovebirds mess around with clay will be the cutest shit."

"Oooh!" Angel squealed, grinning, a pair of hands clasped together in front of him while another held his blushing face. "Maybe they'll start ghostin'!"

"Ghosting?" Charlie said, cocking her head to the side.

"Yeah, from the Patrick Swayze movie with Demi Moore?" Vaggie said, coming up behind Charlie, holding her from behind. "Where they make the pottery and that corny song starts playing."

"Ohhh my looove~" Angel crooned. "Mah daaarliiin'…"

"Jeez!" Husk grumbled as he walked through the door. "Are ya torturin' a cat in here?"

"Nah," Angel said, winking at him. "But I can make one hurt so good for the right price!"

"Pass." Husk brushed by him and glanced at the table, the assorted nonsense atop it. "Third time's the charm, eh, Chuck?"

"You know it!"

Husk poured himself some coffee from the urn and sat down, looking between the three of them. "What's got you birds all het up?"

"Oh, just, uh, excited to get on with the program!" Charlie said, blushing.

"Ah-huh," Husk muttered into his coffee. "Not basking in young love?"

"No!" Charlie said, defensively, before adding, sotto voce. "Not entirely, anyway…"

"Yeah. Right." Husk snorted and tossed his full cup at a shadowy corner. "What about you, Chuckles? You crunchin' diamonds wit' yer asscheeks to make macramé?"

Alastor rose out of the shadow, the coffee on his suit evaporating without a trace. "Hardly. I'm here to see what new tomfoolery will interrupt our wholesome hostess' valiant attempt to redeem a mentally misaligned mass murderer!"

Husk blinked and shrugged. "Fair enough. My money's on another hallucination."

"Fifty bucks says Stolas crashes the party!" Angel said, cackling. "Angry Hoot-Daddy!"

"Yer on!" Husk chuckled. "Hallucination here. Fifty buck buy-in, takin' all comers!"

"I want in!" Vaggie said. "My bet's on Stand shenanigans!"

Niffty fell from a ceiling vent with a squawk, dusting herself off a second later. "Fifty bucks says she portals them out of here to make sweet love!"

"Why do I even bother _pretending_ we're professionals?" Charlie moaned, palm to her face.

All heads turned as Moonchild and Octavia entered the room, the pair stopping as the group attempted and failed to look natural.

"Well, this is a good start to the day," grumbled Octavia.

* * *

"…Just enough water so the clay doesn't stick, but not too much that it starts to dissolve," said Charlie, sculpting her brick of clay. "It's a balance. Part of learning to sculpt is figuring out which style works for you. Some people like it a little stickier, but others like it nice and wet!"

Angel snickered as he crafted an ambiguously phallic sculpture.

"It's all about you! Make it personal, make it yours!"

Moonchild put the finishing touches on his sculpture and smiled, he was no professional, but he think he got Octavia's likeness down well enough. Charlie said to make anything so long as he made it his, and right now Octavia was all he needed. He sat up and smiled, looking around the room.

Vaggie had taken a lump of clay, stabbed a series of holes in it with a pen, dubbed it a pen-holder, and was now sipping coffee and reading a how-to book listing the habits of successful administrators. Niffty was carefully and dutifully crafting a Hummel figurine holding a severed head. Alastor stood before his lump of clay, hands folded neatly behind his back; the lump of clay bled and whined like a tormented dog. Charlie was busily working away on something that he suspected was supposed to be a bowl, but had since collapsed into yet another ash tray. He turned to glance at Octavia who, using her talons, had dry-carved the block of clay into a stylized sculpture of an owl on the wing with a fish in its talons. She noticed his attention and smiled, winking at him.

"Cocksucker!" Husk barked as his oversized mug collapsed again. "Piss-sippin' taint-licker! Whyzit keep doin' that?!"

Moonchild looked back in the past, 100 seconds played a dozen times over from multiple angles in an instant. "I think I know, Mr. Husk. You need to maintain consistent thickness all the way up."

"Oh, izzat all?" Husk sneered. "Cuz I've just been wingin' it this whole time!"

"Well, you have to, uh, see you do this thing with your hands and…" Moonchild got to his feet and made his way over. "Here, I'll show you."

"What're you–" Husk said as Moonchild swept up behind him, sitting down on his stool behind him. "Hey!"

"You just hold your hands like this." Moonchild pulled Husk close between his legs and reached around, taking Husk's hands in his and guiding them to the collapsed pile of clay, his larger, muscular frame neatly encapsulating the smaller demon. "Here, like that, and try to imagine a line and just sculpt the clay to it, try not to push inward past that line."

The clay spun on the turn table, as Moonchild guided a blushing, conflicted Husk through the process, his square jaw resting on his shoulder.

"What're you making anyway?" Moonchild said into his ear.

"Uh…" Husk mumbled, simultaneously flustered and indignant. "A beer stein. It's lookin' good, I think I got it. Y'can stop now."

Moonchild smiled, gingerly caressing Husk's knuckles with his thumbs. "I think we make a good team."

Husk looked around and noticed the wry smiles and teasing looks from the rest of the circle. "If any a'you wiseasses so much as hum three notes of that Righteous Brother's song–!"

"Ohhhh my loooove~!" Vaggie and Charlie harmonized.

"My daaarliiing~" Angel said, blowing Husk a kiss.

Alastor leaned into view, grinning maliciously. "I've hun~gered for your…"

"Touch!" Moonchild broke in, restraining a furious Husk with a muscular embrace. "A looong, lonely time~"

"Get the fuck offa me!"

The circle broke into laughter as Husk shot to his feet and stormed over to the coffee urn, pouring himself a cup, smiling despite himself. Moonchild put the finishing touches on the beer stein before looking up at Octavia, who was examining his sculpture.

"Hey, Moonie," she said, cocking her head. "Who's this?"

Moonchild smiled, wiping his muddy hands on a towel. "Oh, someone important to me. Maybe you've met her."

Octavia turned the table around, revealing a sculpture of a beautiful young woman, a human woman. "No, I don't think I have."

Moonchild started with shock, rising to his feet. "What? But… but I could have sworn…"

He made his way over to it, examining the agonizingly familiar face, Octavia folded her arms across her chest, an unimpressed look on her face. "Well? Who is she?"

"What's going on over here?" Charlie said.

"Moonchild carved a girl," Octavia said, turning the sculpture to Charlie. "An important girl."

"Oh no…" Charlie said, horrified. "Moonie… is that your mother?"

Octavia arched an eyebrow. "His mother?"

"First time we did a hobby-swap, Moonchild hallucinated he was sewing his mother's mouth shut," said Angel, dryly. "Wit' fishin' line."

"What?!"

"She's not my mother…" Moonchild muttered, his eyes distant. "She's my daughter."

A gasp rose from the circle, Octavia's eyes went wide. "Your _what?!_ "

"My–Agh!" Moonchild doubled over, hands clasping his head, he felt as though it would burst with the sudden surge of information, memories, the thoughts and feelings of someone else, someone deeply disturbed and hideously violent. Hatred. His daughter. Defeat. Confusion. Then Fear. Pain. Death. Fear. Pain. Death. Fear. Pain. Death. Fear. Pain. Death.

His eyes snapped open as he shot to his feet, his immediate future playing out in an instant. He turned to a stunned Octavia. "Via! I need a portal, now!"

"What?"

"A portal, a portal to Earth!"

"Where on Earth?" She said, the absurdity of the situation finally sinking in. "Why? Moonie, what's going on?"

"I need a portal to Earth, now! Random location!" He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Via, just do it!"

Octavia saw the burning determination in his eyes, whatever was going on, Moonchild knew what was going on, and that was enough for her. "Okay!"

She summoned the grimoire and opened a portal to Earth. The couple leapt through and, with a flash, they were gone.

The circle was gripped with a stunned silence, broken only when Angel said: "So, uh, who won?"

"Me!" Niffty cheered. "Pay up, losers!"

"We don't know if they ran off to fuck!" Vaggie said, crossing her arms. "We'll have to wait until they get back. I still bet it was Stand shenanigans."

Charlie sat down in her chair, swept her legs up onto the table, knocking the other hobbies to the floor before snapping her fingers at Husk. "Husk."

Without a hint of hesitation Husk reached into a pocket and produced a hip-flask, which he tossed to her. Charlie capped the flask and began to drink.

* * *

The streets were choked with people. Protestors marched en masse, signs and banners blazing the words 'End Corruption' and 'RIP Senator Kovacs' and 'Money Out Of Politics'. The rather public death of Senator Kovacs had electrified the nation. When the lurid details of his death were leaked by independent sources, the country had risen up in arms in protest, as was its right. All races and creeds, left and right, all took to the streets to protest the evidently naked contempt the 'third parties' held for their democracy. Riots had sprung up all across the country, protests that met all attempt at pacification with stronger resolve. Edward Kovacs was the martyred patron saint of a new movement.

In New York, riot police descended a street, bearing down on a mass of protestors as cars and dumpsters blazed. Old and young, masked and unmasked, all had turned out to resist. The wall of ballistic shields marched ever forward amidst canisters of tear gas, the thud of boots on pavement and the hammering of batons on aramid laid down a hellish chorus that competed with the chants of the protestors.

A man stumbled out of an alley, his hair a wild tangle, his eyes wide and terrified. He was tall, exceptionally handsome, and dressed in naught but pants and a fishnet tank-top.

His head snapped around, eyes wild, flinching at every noise as though expecting a strike. He made his way onto the street, cowering as protestors and police marched down opposite sides of the street.

"Hey!" A gruff voice shouted. "Get back inside! Return to your home!"

He spun around to see a riot cop brandishing a shield and a baton. He screamed and ran for his life. Would this man kill him? Was that his fate this time?

He shoved his way through the protestors, who squawked indignantly but let him pass. A sea of bodies, a sea of potential assailants, of death. He scrambled past them, screaming and whimpering. He had to survive, to escape.

He stumbled out onto the sidewalk, his mind a thoughtless frenzy. Pain and death awaited, lurked around every corner. He had to run, to escape. It would find him, of course, the Requiem would find him and lay him low once again.

He had to run and run and run.

A bright light drew his attention, a car, a mid-sized Sedan, was barreling down the sidewalk at him.

Crushed beneath the tire of a car.

Wouldn't be the first time, and certainly not the last.

The car roared as it sped towards him, its metal hood and grinding, tearing tires ready to crush and shred and maim. He would feel everything, every broken bone, every tattered muscle and shorn strip of flesh. He would feel it all and the second the pain began to fade, he would be shunted into another reality, whole and intact, ready to endure the next agony unimpeded.

The headlights bared down on him, he could almost feel the heat of the lamps on his skin when a terrible raucous sound tore the air. The shriek of rubber on concrete, the muffled crump of collapsing metal, the great thudding crash of a ton-and-change of steel and aluminum smashing into brick and concrete.

He uncovered his face to see a figure, huge and muscular, towering over him, bracing from the impact. The car lay imbedded in the adjacent building, a ruin of tangled steel smoldering and ticking in what used to be a bistro.

"King Crimson?" He husked. "You've returned to me?"

The figure looked down at him with fuchsia eyes that held within them a terrible familiarity.

"It's okay," it said, its voice sweet and smooth and familiar, the voice of better times and comfort. "I'm here for you." It bent over, plucking him off the ground like he was a

child. "You're safe."

"Hey!" Barked another voice, punctuated by a series of gunshots. "Put down the stripper!"

The figure unraveled his hand, loosing a half-dozen bullets to the ground. "Did you just shoot at me and _then make a demand?_ "

"Drop the stripper, freak!"

The being said nothing and strode off down the street, the crowd parting around it like the red sea.

"Dude," said one of the protestors. "What did we smoke?"

"Just ACDC and Canna-Tsu," cried another. "I swear!"

"So, you see the eight foot tall bird-girl too?"

"And the swole supermodel wearing a squid, yes!"

"Get me more of that shit, man!"

"Octavia!" The giant fish-demon shouted. "Portal! Now!"

"We have to go back to where the portal opened!" The huge owl-demoness said, kicking a protester away as he humped her leg. "Fuck off!"

"What?!"

"I told you, these old grimoires suck ass!"

"Damnit!"

The muscular Sea-Demon waded through the crowd, humans parting around him as he wade through the throng, some of them voicing their admiration of his physique.

The pair met up and ran down the congested street, shoving humans out of their way as they did.

"Here!" Octavia cried over the roar of the crowd. "We're here. Just give me a second to recount the spell!"

The Sea-Demon roughly dropped the man, his hands a blur as he deflected a fusillade of fully automatic fire. "Shit! What's going on?"

"Look out!" Diavolo cried as huge fuel truck jumped the curb, streaking for them.

The Sea-Demon streak forward with inhuman speed, smashing tons of fast-moving steel and petroleum away from them, sending the screaming, blazing wreck into the adjacent crowd, consuming hundreds in a massive explosion.

Another riot cop opened fire on them, the Sea-Demon deflected the bullets with one hand.

"What's going on?" The Sea-Demon cried, horrified at the carnage. "It's like this city's trying to kill us!"

"It's the Requiem!" Diavolo screamed, pointing to the sky. "It has to kill me or it can't reset!"

A terrible roar filled the air, a bellowing, teeth-shattering sound filled the air as a 747 screamed ground-ward towards the trio.

"Via!"

"I got it!" The owl-demoness screamed over the roar of the jet-engines.

The trio leapt through just as the airliner barreled down on them, the scream of the engines giving way to a terrific, thudding explosion as thousands of liters of kerosene lit up. Hundreds were incinerated as–

–In New York, riot police descended a street, bearing down on a mass of protestors as cars and dumpsters blazed. Old and young, masked and unmasked, all had turned out to resist. The wall of ballistic shields marched ever forward amidst canisters of tear gas, the thud of boots on pavement and the hammering of batons on aramid laid down a hellish chorus that competed with the chants of the protestors.

The Requiem was broken.

Octavia, Diavolo, and Moonchild tumbled through a portal with a gout of flames and smoldering scraps of aluminum. The sound of the explosion cut off just before the portal snapped shut. They lay panting on the ground as various inhuman figures closed around them.

"Did you guys fuck?" Asked the smallest one.

Diavolo screamed and scurried into a corner. "Monsters! Stay away!"

"Who's the hunk?" One of the taller abominations said.

"It's okay…" the Sea-Demon said his hands out in front, placatingly. "You're safe. It's over. It's finally over."

Diavolo panted, his breath coming out in shrill, animalistic shrieks. Something, though, something about the monster before him made him pause. He could think now, he wasn't dying before he could catch his breath. What was going on?

"I got you out of there," said the Sea-Demon, his expression calm, his tone soothing and familiar. "You're free, now."

There was something in the monster's expression, in his eyes, his voice: it was familiar, comforting. "…Doppio?"

"Yes," Doppio said, his tone calm and soothing. "It's me. You're safe. _We're_ safe."

* * *

The vast structure loomed over Pride, the realm of the damned, of sinners: Lucifer's domain. An ancient and arcane ziggurat kilometers tall, pillars of red light emanating from dozens of points along its massive structure. An endless parade of damned souls were forced to march up its interminable stairs to the glowing, gated dome guarding the inner sanctum and temple. This tortuous march was sardonically referred to as the 'Stairway to Heaven', since none who were forced to ascend ever returned.

The palatial estate of Grand Duke Sallos.

Sallos sat behind his desk, scrawling his signature on a document in triplicate. Trying to keep up with Trouble's schemes was a full-time job, requiring thousands of witnesses to be sent to the Soul Lathe a day to adequately monitor his activities. The process was akin to a death sentence, and as such necessitated double the paperwork, one for interrogation and the ownership of the extracted information, and the other for the requisition of permission to execute a soul in the name of the Luciferian Regime. The requisitions were never refused, but it still took time to get a response.  
The Duke rolled out his wrist, paperwork was a necessary evil, even in Hell.

Any and all witnesses or associates of Trouble's movements were to be put in the chair and have their souls thoroughly scoured of all information, rather than rely on second-hand retellings replete with 'maybes' and 'I thinks'. Such a procedure was usually reserved for traitors, but these were extenuating circumstances. At least the paperwork was nearing its end, once his interrogators had sorted and interpreted the data, he could begin compiling an idea of where the damned demon was hiding the Corpse. As complete a map of the bastard's hide-outs and safehouses as possible was vital if his forces were to retrieve the artifact. It would take single, simultaneous action to see his entire organization exterminated and the Saint's Corpse secured, for it had been Sallos' experience that Trouble's organization could move freely between locations, and missing even one could mean losing both Trouble and the Corpse.

The last document on his desk held a curious gravity, for it was the one that would taint his relationship with his beloved cousin for the foreseeable future: the death warrant of the imps. Their execution could well be a painless, instant obliteration, but their knowledge of the interior of the Vault and the defenses employed by the mortals was of particular interest to himself and Lucifer. Should the humans ever again try to compile such a repertoire of powerful artifacts, it would be prudent to know the exact extent of their abilities. Add to that their punitive value to Stolas and relative lack of powerful allies made them absolutely ideal targets.

Killing two birds with one stone.

Still… Stolas would be chilly for at least the next century, so Sallos would have to get used to cold shoulders and ugly looks.

But Octavia would be safe.

He could live with that.

He signed the document, officiating it with his unbreakable, irreversible seal: the imps were now as good as dead.

He rose to his feet and made for the door, he had to organize a dragnet to scrape up additional witnesses and associates of Trouble and his gang: they were going to nail this bastard to a cross and watch him burn on it!

His hand clasped around the door handle when he remembered: the tooth! The gaudy golden tooth he had extracted from that vulgar insect, he'd had it cleaned and polished in preparation for gifting it to his diligent captain. It was currently in his desk drawer.

"I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached to my shoulders," the Duke muttered aloud.

"Oh, there are worse problems to have," said a sweet, southern-accented voice. "You should know that best of all, Sally."

A cold chill raced up Sallos' spine as he turned around, sitting sideways in his chair, his legs resting on the armrest, was Lucifer. The Morning Star was slight of frame, comically short, and utterly terrifying. His aura soured the air, made it curdle, the taste of metal coated Sallos' tongue. The low heady thrum of his might was like a heartbeat thudding from all around, as though he had been swallowed whole by the slumbering Leviathan reawakened.

"Your Grace."

Lucifer's grin sparkled as he hopped to his feet, looking to all the world like a child standing on his father's office chair, his hands folded behind his back. "Oh, you're always such a formal-normal, Sally! Have a seat, why dontcha?"

Sallos was suddenly behind his desk, sitting in his chair, as Lucifer stood on his desk so that they were face-to-face. "There! Relax, we're all friends here."

"To what do I owe this honor, Your Grace?" Sallos said.

"Oh, what?" Lucifer waved him off, his light Georgian accent lending a disarming chirrup to his speech. "I can't drop by and see how my best peacekeeper is doing? You work so hard and I just wanted to let you know I think you're _real sweet_ for it!"

He tapped his foot on the desk, his glossy, black riding boots clacking on the Hell-Oak; under his foot was an envelope bearing the apple-red seal of the Luciferian Regime. "Oh, and to drop this ol' thing off."

"You… could have sent a messenger."

His smile only widened. "Last time I sent one of my messengers, you kicked him into the Abyss."

"And the last time I was over for dinner, I used a _napkin_ , Your Grace," said Sallos, picking up the envelope.

"Ah ha ha! There's the Sassy Sally I know!" Lucifer tittered into the back of his hand. "I do declare, I thought this job was getting to you! Always so serious and severe 'ooorgh I'm Dook Sally! I keep the peace! Urgh! Decorum'!"

Sallos broke the seal and unfolded the piece of parchment. "The Decree."

"Bingo, Ringo!" Lucifer said, tapping his nonexistent nose and pointing at Sallos. "The absolute final draft! It's essentially the same one you got in advance, alls I did was add _two_ li'l ol' words to, y'know, punch it up a bit. Give it some 'oomph'!"  
The color drained from Sallos' face, the flames of his brows shrank and flickered as he read, his heart dropping into his stomach, becoming a cold, hard pit: 'family member'.

The words were 'family member'.

"To all it may concern. Your King Lucifer Mange, the Morningstar, He With Might Above All Under God, has decreed that for his negligence and transgressions, Prince Stolas Goetia will be subjected to unofficial punitive actions. The death of a beloved _family member_ has been suggested and repercussions will be minimized. This decree expires upon the execution of aforementioned punitive action."

"See?" Lucifer said, his smile suddenly bereft of any and all good will, a sneering lunette of fangs beneath a pair of cold, hateful eyes. " _Punchy_."

"But–but that's cruel!"

"Mmmyes…?" Lucifer extended his hand in a friendly gesture. "You must be new, welcome to Hell."

Sallos' mouth worked for a moment, a cold sweat breaking out on his tall, proud forehead. "But… why?"

"Why?" Lucifer pondered the question for a moment. "Mmmmbecause."

"Because?" Sallos said, his aura flaring with his temper. "Because why?"

"Because because because~" Lucifer said, sing-song. "Because I want this one to hurt. I want it to hurt so, _so bad_. Sure, Stolas' rivals will rejoice at a chance to stick it to that pompous prancing poofter (Morax especially), but once all is said and done and the girl's head is on a spike, maybe they'll _think_. Stop and _really_ think about what it implies: I know how to _~hurt~_ them. All of them. _All of you_. Cross me, cause me grief, _fuck with me…_ "

The room went cold, colder than any abyss, cold enough the air itself went solid and fell to the floor in beads, the lamps and lights of the room stopped casting light and instead cast a darkness that was not so much the absence of light, but the dead, rotting corpse of even the idea of light.

Of warmth.

Of hope.

Sallos was crushed into his chair as Lucifer, the real Lucifer, extruded himself through his puppet, bringing with him a snippet of the realm in which he dwelt eternal, the gelid abyss of the Ninth Circle.

When he spoke there was no sound, nothing from without, it was like the words were being carved into his very soul and slithered out his ears like vile, icy serpents, violating and corrupting as they did. " ** _…A̶͋̑̓ͥnͥ͂͊̒̇͗ͦd̢͗ͭͭͣ͋̍ ̉͂Ì̑͑͛ ̀͒w̵ͦ̈́͊̿̎ͭ͌i̷l̷̓ͫͯͯl̇̓ͯͫ͑̽ͩ ͥ̐̈ͣ̈ͦͤ̀f͒̓͆ͭ҉u͂̂̍cͦ͊̈͗̑̄k͒͌̕ ͐́y͗͘o͌͛u͆͛ͦ̾͝ ̽b̡̃͊aͦ̓̀̎̄̀c͗͗̊ͤ͠kͯͬͯͥͭ ́̐ͣ̃͏i̍n̄ͣͩ̓ ͮ͗̃ͯ͐w͊ā͆ͨ́͛̐y̒ͪ͌ͬ̓̚s̛̈ ̸̌ͫy̢o͘u̎ ͯc̑ͩ̊ͥ͑͗̕ȧ̡͊͌ͧͥ̚nͣ̉ͬ͋̌͊̇'̋͋͗̏ͤt͌͘ ̕ẻ̐̍̓ͬͫ̂vͯͯȇ͒ͫͬͮ͝n͌̋ͭͫͬ ̾͐ͪ̌ͧͬͬi̎̈́͠m͒̐aͣ̆͊̂ͥg̛̒i͗ͮ̀̉̓ņͫͪȩ̾͛ͮ͊̽̃̐.̵̇̍ͬ_** Understand?"

Sallos could only swallow.

"Good!" Lucifer chirped.

Light and warmth and sound returned in an explosion of sensation, it was enough to make Sallos almost gasp in shock, but he maintained his demeanor. To do anything less could have meant his life.

"Oh, Sally. I understand you might have some conflicting feelings on this one," Lucifer said, his tone almost convincingly sympathetic. "You great big softy, you. Well, I'm gonna need you to untuck it and do your duty, because if we don't dig up that corpse double-time, I'm afraid we're in for a visit from the rellies."

Sallos' eyes snapped open wide. "What do you mean?"

"You no doubt are wondering what's gotten me into such an Old Testament mood," he said, smiling like he wanted desperately to skin something alive. "Well, since you're my guy, I think you should know. Just before coming here to deliver the decree and invite you to dinner, who calls me up but none other than Mikey!"

Sallos thought on this for a moment, before blinking in shock and slowly, hesitantly, pointing up, to the ceiling. "…Mikey?"

Lucifer nodded, winking. "That's right. _That_ Mikey. Oh, and _my stars_ if we didn't have a most _stimulating_ conversation, laws yes! It seems that this little hiccup has made its way to the tippy-top in record time. Getting through the dense celestial bureaucracy in less than a year, why, it'd be impressive if it weren't so… _inconvenient_. So, after that wonderful little family moment, I was inspired to make some last-minute additions to the Decree and made it here double-time to give you the good news in person."

Sallos opened his mouth to speak when Lucifer placed a talon over his lips, grinning like death itself. "Oh, you just shut your _fucking_ mouth and listen. You have one day to wrap up this Decree bullshit, kill whoever you have to and put the matter to rest. Because if you don't dig up my brother-dad's earthly remains and return them to the mortal plane soon, those winged dipshits will be sending their _own_ retrieval team! I don't think I need to explain to you why we'd rather they didn't. Understand?"

Sallos nodded rapidly.

"Good." Lucifer stepped back and stood up straight, tipping his top hat to the petrified Duke. "Lilly says 'hi'. She wants your opinion on her new soufflé recipe, so, you know, wrap up work and get back to her on that. Alright? Great. Toodles!"

Lucifer disappeared into a pillar of icy black flame. Sallos sat in silence, his eyes wide and expression harrowed; all his plans, all his preparations, all for naught. He would do his duty, for his family and for all of Hell, but nothing could assuage the burning, bitter feeling at the core of his being: for the first time in his long, long life, he felt truly damned.

"Oh, that's right!" Lucifer said, appearing once more on his desk. "Here you go!"

Sallos looked down, his hand was raised and open; in his palm was the polished gold tooth.

"She works so hard, doesn't she?" Lucifer chirruped, smiling warmly. "Give the good Captain my best! Toodles, f'real this time!"

With that, Lucifer was gone. Sallos closed his hand on the tooth and leaned forward, resting his head on his fists, red, bloody tears running down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, I think the next chapter is going to be some absolute insanity.
> 
> Enjoy!


	15. Mandala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was really unhappy with how the original chapter 15 was paced, as a well as a few of the scenes. So I'm pulling a George Lucas and posting a re-release with head- tilts and tacky CGI!
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 15: Mandala  
  
  
The Mustang Mach 1 screamed down the highway, cutting off other cars as it wove between traffic, leaving those that did’t swerve into oncoming traffic in its dust. Blitzo hissed as he rubbed his still-tender belly. That fish-boy had really let him have it.  
  
  
He popped another of the little glowing pills, swallowing it whole and sighing as he felt the warm, buttery glow of… whatever the fuck these things were. He understood that these babies had a much different effect on sinners than imps. Oh, it patched them up just fine, but demons could shake off just about anything anyway, so that was just a fun side-effect. No, it was the high; somewhere between heroin and a mother’s love, and with an even worse dependency rate. Just as well it did shit for dick for the Hell-born, Blitzo probably worked with all the imps in Hell that could afford the little bastards.  
  
  
But none of that mattered right now.  
  
  
The Mach 1 skidded to a stop outside the IMP building, roaring into the mostly empty parking lot (they’d bought the building and evicted everyone else), still managing to smash into Moxxie and Millie’s sensible four-door Sedan. Blitzo kicked the door off its hinges and scrambled into the building, racing up a flight of stairs to the IMP office.  
  
  
“Where’s my baby?!”  
  
  
“Right here, sir,” said Moxxie, standing next to a badly shaken Loona. “She’s alright, or not hurt, at least.”  
  
  
Loona was sitting on a chair, a blanket over her shoulders and an empty mug in her paws, Millie stood next to her, her hand on her lap.  
  
  
“Refill, sweetie?” Millie asked, her tone soft.  
  
  
“Mmhm.”  
  
  
She waved over an armored, insectoid demon. “Gabriel?”  
  
  
Gabriel nodded, waking over with a thermos, which he poured into her mug. “Here you go, Loony.”  
  
  
“Thanks, Gabe,” she muttered, sipping the cocoa from trembling hands.  
  
  
“Loony!” Blitzo cried, running over. “What happened?!”  
  
  
Moxxie crossed his arms. “Well, first you ditched, then Loona was missing, and Mollie and I had to–”  
  
  
Blitzo’s hand clapped over Moxxie’s entire face, shutting him up and shoving him backwards onto his rear. “If I want to hear from you, Mox, I’ll fuckin’ ask! Loony? Honey, what’s wrong? Who hurt you? Where is he?!”  
  
  
“H-he didn’t hurt me…” She said, her voice low. “He said he was going t-to hurt you. Kill you.”  
  
  
“Who?”  
  
  
She looked up at him, fresh tears rolling down her sodden cheeks. “Grand Duke Sallos.”  
  
  
A pregnant silence hung in the air, IMP stared at her, stunned, their eyes wide.  
  
  
Blitzo turned to Moxxie. “Who’s that?”  
  
  
“Whu-SIR!” Moxxie exclaimed, pulling at his hair. “S-Sallos Goetia a grand duke of Hell itself! What’s more, he’s the primary peacekeeper of Lucifer!”  
  
  
Blitzo blinked, first one eye, then the other. “…Kay.”  
  
  
“He’s a demon royal! A Fallen Angel! He’s powerful enough to make all those other ungodly assholes play nice! And-and he’s after you because-b-because–” Moxxie cried, hyperventilating. “I-I think I’m having a panic attack!”  
  
  
“Gabriel,” Millie said to the towering Junior. “Go get your dad’s Valiums… and arm yourself.”  
  
  
“Huh. Really?” Blitzo sniffed, pulling out his pistol. “Well, someone get Lucifer on the horn and tell him to put together an 'help wanted' ad, because that fucker’s ass is grass!”  
  
  
“You can’t be serious! You have to run!” Loona said, shooting to her feet. “Dad, he’s going to kill you! All of you! He’s a _monster!_ I-I tried to call St. Anger, but he couldn’t help us unless I paid him, and I didn’t have enough to-to-to–”  
  
  
Loona buried her face in her hands and Blitzo pulled her into a hug. She clung to him and squeezed him tightly. He looked up at Moxxie and Millie, a huge grin on his face as he whispered: “ _She called me ‘dad’~_ ”  
  
  
“Loony, look at me,” Blitzo said, gazing into her eyes. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. If that royal asshole wants to tear down what I’ve built, what we’ve built, he’ll have to go through me first! I’ve got a hundred-thousand rounds of Seraphim-Steel-plated ‘Fuck You’ and I’m aiming to shove it right up his cockhole!”  
  
  
A voice came from the other end of the room. “Oh, he’s going to _love_ you.”  
  
  
They turned to see a single, tall, spiky demoness standing in the doorway. She was beautiful, with perfect humanoid features framed by a mane of chitinous, interlocking scales that sprouted into spikes as they ran down her spine. She was dressed in an impeccable black, three-piece suit, her arms folded neatly behind her back. Her orange eyes locked on the imps, her face drawn into a dour, stoic mien.  
  
  
“I am Captain Gallia of the Ducal Guard,” she said, her tone calm and even. “By the power vested in me by Grand Duke Sallos, Peacekeeper Primaris of the Luciferian Regime, I hereby command you to–”  
  
  
“Hey, Tits, do ya mind?” Blitzo sneered. “We’re closed for business. Or, if you’re here for the succubi, they were across the hall before we evicted them! So, uh, yeah, fuck off!”  
  
  
Gallia arced a scaly eyebrow, confounded. “What? No, I–”  
  
  
“Does ‘fuck off’ mean something else where you’re from, butch?”  
  
  
Her mouth hung open in shock before breaking into a savage smile, a low, genuine laugh issuing forth. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! _Balls._ Okay, I was going to just knock you all out, but you just went and earned a fight. Don’t worry, I’ll take it easy on you.”  
  
  
“Oh, you’ll take it alright!” Blitzo said, reaching under his coat and pulling out a custom black and red FM SCAR-H, loosing a full barrage of full automatic fire. “Lie back and think of Satan, biiitch!”  
  
  
Captain Gallia didn’t seem to move at all, the clinking of spent brass and the roar of the rifle report echoing off the walls. The click of an empty chamber announced the abrupt end of the cacophony. The imps stood in silence as the tall demoness strolled forward, unfolding her arms from behind her back, opening them out in front of her. All thirty Seraphim-Steel 7.62x51mm rounds clattered on the floor as she strode over them, a wry smirk on her face.  
  
  
An amazed smile spread across Blitzo’s face. “I am _super hard_ right now.”  
  
  
Captain Gallia bridged the distance in a microsecond, her talons fastening around Blitzo’s throat as sh hauled him off his feet, the tiniest flicker of her demonic might manifesting as hurricane wind that scattered the other four about the room.  
  
  
“Erghk…” Blitzo croaked, grasping her wrist, still smiling. “Really not helping with the boner situation.”  
  
  
Gallia arched a brow and looked down, her eyes snapping open wide at what she saw, an impressed smile on her face. “Nice!”  
  
  
“KIIIAAAAIII!” Millie roared, glimmering, angelic kukris in both hands and tail.  
  
  
Gallia ducked and stepped backwards, the leaping imp’s arms going clear over her shoulders. Gallia stooped her head forward before swinging it back with a casual, almost gentle grace. The back of her head smashed into Millie’s chest with a resounding ‘crack’, black blood spraying from her mouth as she was sent hurtling backwards, smashing a hole through the far wall.  
  
  
“Millie!” Moxxie roared, drawing both his pistols on the demon captain. “You… _bitch!_ ”  
  
  
He opened fire with the speed and grouping of a trained professional. Gallia wove herself and the imp in her grasp around the storm of Seraphic bullets, walking up to the furious Moxxie just as his clips were spent.  
  
  
“Oh crumbs…”  
  
  
She reached out and slapped Moxxie across the cheek with the back of her hand, lightly, as though she were swatting a mosquito. Moxxie’s head snapped to the side as a fine mist of blood sprayed from his mouth. She swatted him again with an open hand, on the other cheek, with identical results. Before the barely conscious imp could topple over, she grabbed him by the chin and planted a tender kiss on his bloody lips.  
  
  
“I’ll be getting to know you _real_ well, cutie,” said Gallia, licking his oily black blood off her lips.  
  
  
Moxxie’s eyes rolled up in his skull and he fell back, unconscious. Blitzo wriggled in her grasp. “He’s spoken for, creep!”  
  
  
Gallia shrugged. “Not my first threeway.”  
  
  
“ _They’re_ spoken for, creep!” Blitzo said, his tail adroitly reaching into his pocket.  
  
  
“You know, it’s not every day I’m told to take someone alive. Normally it’s kill so-and-so or protect such-and-such,” she said, her low drawl giving way to an outright gleeful lilt. “Not often I’m outright _told_ to play with my prey. I hope you won’t mind if I smack you chumps around a little more.”  
  
  
“Smug, privileged cunt!” Loona roared as she swung a metal chair at Gallia’s head.  
  
  
Gallia didn’t so much as twitch as the chair exploded into a shower metal fragments around her head. The demon captain glanced over her shoulder at the stunned hellhound, her eyes glowing sun-orange as they narrowed. “Bad dog.”  
  
  
She turned around and strode towards Loona, her aura leaping off her body like solar flares, the air grew hot, dry, and electrified, a single bolt flashed out and sent Loona tumbling across the room, unconscious. “Bitch’s a biter, have to put her down.”  
  
  
“Uh, ex- _cuse_ you, bitch?!” Blitzo snarled. “ _My baby is perfect!_ ”  
  
  
Blitzo swung his lower body up as though to kick. Gallia smirked and dodged the strike, opening her mouth to mock him when a shimmering streak slashed up the Captain’s face like a whip crack. Gallia roared in pain and outrage as the vision in her eye shorted out with a flash of light, the smell of her own flesh burning filling her nostrils as the sound of her sizzling meat echoed in her ears. She threw the imp to the ground and clutched at her face, a long, smoking bone-deep wound carved up her jaw to her forehead, her eye a bubbling ruin of purified tissue.  
  
  
“How… _dare you?!_ ” She bellowed.  
  
  
“What can I say?” Blitzo said, the tip of his tail shod in a heart-shaped blade of angelic metal. “Bitches get stitches.”  
  
  
Gallia’s hand snapped out and golden bands of lightning shot out, encasing Blitzo in agonizing arcs of demonic energy. Blitzo screamed as every nerve in his body was set ablaze, his muscles seizing so hard he felt his bones creak and crack. Lights exploded behind his eyes as his senses faded until there was only the pain in the world. The pain stopped and he collapsed to his knees, his breath exploding from his mouth in high, willowy shrieks. Her tall, sharp high-heels clicked and clacked as he strode up to him.  
  
  
“You hurt me, imp. Wounded me,” Gallia snarled, her smile cruel and hateful. “That’s the best anyone’s done in a good, long while. For that, I’ll oversee your interrogation personally.”  
  
  
“Ugh, s-stilettos?” Blitzo groaned. “Those things are _terrible_ for your arches.”  
  
  
With a snake-like snap of his wrist, Blitzo produced a Seraphic stiletto and drove it into her foot, pinning it to the floor.  
  
  
“See?”  
  
  
Gallia roared in pain and rage and reached down, grabbing Blitzo and throwing him hard over her shoulder. His body almost smashing clear through to the next floor before limply peeling out of the crater and bouncing on the ground, unconscious.  
  
  
Gallia yanked the blade out of her foot and spun around to see Millie in the air above her, a massive shining hammer in her hands. The Captain braced before she was smashed through the floor. Moxxie and Millie took point around it, their weapons drawn.  
  
  
“Mom! Dad!” Gabriel cried as he burst out of the armory, a huge Seraphic halberd in his hands. “I’ll hold her off! Take Blitzo and run!”  
  
  
“No!” Moxxie shouted to his adopted son. “It’s us she’s after! You get Loona and get out of here!”  
  
  
“But–”  
  
  
“It’s okay, son!” Millie said, smiling at him over her shoulder. “We’re still alive, which means that’s how her boss wants us! We’ll meet up with ya after we kick her ass!”  
  
  
“Mom… Dad…” Gabriel said, tears in his eyes.  
  
  
“Go,” Moxxie said, gently. “We’ve got this.”  
  
  
Gabriel marshaled his courage and nodded, tears streaming down his face as he gather the unconscious hellhound off the ground. “I’ll save you! I’ll find help and save you!”  
  
  
He ran out the door and Moxxie and Millie braced themselves as a painfully intense orange light emanated from the hole in the floor, the sheer demonic might of the Captain ionizing the air in an eerie blue glow that surrounded her aura like a halo.  
  
  
“Win or die,” Millie said, shooting her husband a sad, loving look.  
  
  
Moxxie smiled and curled his tail around hers. “It’s you and I.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The pink-haired man sat on the floor in the corner of the room, behind a chair, hugging his knees. All around him was upturned furniture, stacked about as barriers to his imagined attackers. On the other end of the room were an assortment of concerned demons.  
  
  
“Y’know…” Niffty said, tapping her chin. “He’s not nearly as sexy as I thought he’d be.”  
  
  
“I’m going to regret asking,” Charlie said, watching the near comatose man closely, unconsciously rubbing her ribs. “But what were you expecting?”  
  
  
“Taller? Not dressed like a sissy-Mary,” Niffty said, tossing a piece of rubble at him. “And, y’know, I was kinda expecting him to at least _try_ and disembowel someone.”  
  
  
“Yeah, what gives, Kid?” Husk said, turning to Moonchild. “He wasn’t this way at the casino.”  
  
  
“He thought he was in the Requiem,” Moonchild said, somberly. “He was… scared. Now that he’s out he’s just, I don’t know, shut down.”  
  
  
“The what?” Vaggie asked, slapping a larger piece of rubble out of Niffty’s hand as she prepared to throw.  
  
  
“It’s hard to explain…”  
  
  
“Best I can figure, it was some kind of recursive reality loop that skewed probability towards fatal results, directed at the loop’s fulcrum with an exponentially intensifying rate of occurrence as time went on.” Octavia said, flipping through her grimoire, looking up from it as everyone stared at her. “What?”  
  
  
“In Hellish, chicky-poo,” said Angel. “A reversive realty hoop?”  
  
  
“A recursive reality loop,” Octavia said, sighing and shaking her head. “…I think? Look, from what I could sense, it was kind of like a curse, but instead of being just a misfortune magnet, upon activation it actually created a, I dunno, absence of fortune that caused the surrounding reality to warp, to try and destroy the fulcrum, the support structure for the effect, and reset to when it wasn’t there. Moonie’s other guy was made into the fulcrum for this ‘Requiem’, the focal point for reality to react against.”  
  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Angel said, rolling his eyes. “Obviously.”  
  
  
“Wait, Via,” Moonchild said, astonished. “How do you know about this? Can demons do something similar?”  
  
  
“No.” Octavia turned to Charlie. “Not demons.”  
  
  
All heads turned to Charlie, who drummed her fingers together and shrugged. “That sounds a lot like the work of an angel… an _archangel._ ”  
  
  
A pause filled the air as they digested this information. It was Husk who spoke next. “So, uh, Chuck, when you say ‘archangel’, do you mean–”  
  
  
“I mean Uncle Micheal, Uncle Gabriel, Uncle Raphael, and Uncle Uriel,” said Charlie, sighing in exasperation. “And yes, my father, Lucifer.”  
  
  
“Fuck me dead, Chuck,” Angel said, horrified. “Sometimes I, y’know, forget just _who the fuck ya are._ ”  
  
  
Charlie smiled brightly. “Thank you!”  
  
  
“I _never_ forget,” Alastor crooned, leaning over her shoulder, grinning.  
  
  
“Ugh…”  
  
  
“So, what was happening to this guy?” Vaggie looked over at him, at the blank, vacant look on his face. “He’d show up in a place and, what, die?”  
  
  
“Again and again and again,” Moonchild said, hoarsely. “In every possible way, with no escape, for almost _twenty years_. He remembers it _all_.”  
  
  
“Fuck.” Husk spat, disgusted. “Dude was a bastard, a right psycho, but _fuck_.”  
  
  
“Can you help him, Charlie?” Moonchild asked, his eyes pleading.  
  
  
“I don’t know what I can do,” Charlie said, turning to Moonchild. “But I’ll try. I’ll need your help, Moonchild.”  
  
  
He nodded and the two slowly made their way over.  
  
  
The man started at the movement and scrambled behind a love chair, his eyes wide. Charlie pushed out ahead of Moonchild, cooing and soothing, hoping her more human proportions and appearance would placate the traumatized human.  
  
  
“Shhh shhh…” Charlie said her hands open in front of her. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”  
  
  
He cowered before her, trembling as she drew near, she relented and turned to Moonchild. “He won’t let me in. I think this first part has to be up to you, Moonie.”  
  
  
“Alright,” he said, nodding. “I’ll get him out.”  
  
  
Moonchild stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face. “Hey. It’s me, Doppio. It’s okay, you’re out of the Requiem, you’re safe, now.”  
  
  
“The Requiem?” Diavolo blinked and inched forward. “Safe?”  
  
  
“Yes, you’re safe,” Moonchild said, soothingly. “It’s okay, now. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”  
  
  
“You’ll…” His green eyes narrowed as he extended his hand. “…Protect _me?_ ”  
  
  
Moonchild sensed something in the comparatively small human, something that made his blood run cold, he could see that behind those eyes was no feral beast, no animal, but something far more savage and dangerous for its lucidity. Diavolo lunged forward, grabbing Moonchild’s arm, a surge of energy passing between them.  
  
  
“You’ll protect me, Doppio?!” He roared, eyes blazing. “You can’t even protect yourself!”  
  
  
A red, studded fist smashed into Moonchild’s solar-plexus, green blood spraying from his mouth as he flew backwards, crashing into the far wall hard enough to crater the plaster.  
  
  
“Moonchi–urk!” Charlie began to say when another fist slammed across her face, sending her crashing to the floor.  
  
  
“Now we’re talkin’!” Niffty said, grinning.  
  
  
“Charlie!” Vaggie cried, starting forward, only to be held back by Husk.  
  
  
“He’d tear ya to pieces, Vaggie!”

“Moonie!” Octavia cried, rushing to his side. “Moonie, are you–oh, my God, Moonie, what happened to you?”  


Moonchild stirred on the floor, hissing in pain as he rubbed his bruised chest, his clothes hanging off his slender, willowy frame like robes. “I’m… I’m back to my old self?”  
  
  
“You’ve betrayed me! Betrayed us!” Diavolo hissed, a glowing, ephemeral form flickering into existence behind him as he loomed over Charlie. “You’ve divulged our past to these monsters! All this time, and you’ve been living like a dog! Cowering and begging and dragging yourself through filth! You expect me to debase myself as you have?! King Crimson!”  
  
  
Charlie stirred on the floor, momentarily dazed by the force of the blow, the figure behind Diavolo flared into sight, a tall, red, armored humanoid, superimposing itself over Diavolo, hiding him from sight. “No, Doppio, _mi caro_. As always, it will be I who has to clean up your messes. I will start by ending this farce and exterminating these diseased vermin who’ve witnesses to your failure!”  
  
  
King Crimson’s steely fingers wrapped around Charlie’s throat and squeezed. “I remember you. From before. You’re strong, strong enough to withstand my King Crimson’s might intact, but I will prevail! Cease your struggle, child, it will all be over soon.”  
  
  
“I… am…” Charlie croaked, gritting her teeth and grabbing the phantasm’s wrists. “ _Way_ older than you.”  
  
  
King Crimson grimaced at her strength, feeling her start to pry away his fingers. He reared back and smashed his bare forehead into her nose with a crunch and squelch of blood, the back of her head smashing into the floor hard enough to shatter the concrete. Charlie’s strength faltered for a moment and his fingers wrapped around her windpipe with renewed vigor, crushing her airway shut.  
  
  
“Alastor!” Vaggie cried, turning to the leering deer-demon. “Do something!”  
  
  
“Ah ah ah, my one-eyed admin,” Alastor said, adjusting his monocle. “Our dear employer has made it eminently clear that dealing with recalcitrant patients is, heh, not my department.”  
  
  
“He’s gonna kill her!” Angel exclaimed.  
  
  
“Unlikely,” replied Alastor, grabbing a chair and sitting in it, a bucket of popcorn appearing in his lap in a flash of static. “Now, let’s sit back and study this bold new form of therapy: bareknuckle brawling! Go Charlie go! Rah rah rah!”  
  
  
A pink blur streaked by them with a rush of wind. Moonchild bellowed as he streaked towards the figure strangling Charlie, his eyes glowing fuchsia as he wound back his fist.  
  
  
“What?!” King Crimson growled. “Doppio, what are you–”  
  
  
–Loosed a punch into the Stand’s gut, sending him flying backward, crashing through the scattered furniture.  
  
  
“Charlie!” Moonchild said, kneeling next to her. “Are you okay?”  
  
  
“You know, Moonie,” Charlie groaned as she sat up, rubbing the back of her head as she wiped the blood from her nose. “I know he’s important to you, but I can’t say I like this guy very much.”  
  
  
“Let me handle him,” Moonchild said as he helped her to her feet.

Charlie looked him up and down, the sea-demon had physically regressed to his former state. "You, uh, sure about that, Moonie?"

"I think it _has_ to be me," said Moonchild, his eyes set and determined.

Charlie put a hand on his shoulder and nodded, stepping out of his way.

Moonchild set off toward the recovering Diavolo, he dusted himself off and summoned King Crimson.

"I see," said King Crimson, rubbing the bare spot on his forehead. "Epitaph is with you, as King Crimson is with me, you can see what I do, even in erased time. Yet, you've retained its strength. How?"

"Because it's _my_ strength," Moonchild said, fearlessly approaching his other half. "Always has been."

" _Your_ strength?" King Crimson laughed. "A weakling like you could never wield the power to rule the world! A weakling like you is unworthy of King Crimson's might!"

He threw a crushing punch aimed at Moonchild's ribs, aiming for his heart. Moonchild's eyes flashed fuchsia and he caught the fist in his palm, grasping it implacably.

"What?!" King Crimson growled. "How?! You're nothing but a puny child!"

King Crimson's free hand slashed out with impossible speed, the sound barrier cracking like thunder, his hand open in a flat chop, aiming to bisect the effeminate fish-demon from collar to groin. Moonchild's other hand flashed out with equal speed, taking his wrist in his immovable grip. The two grappled for control, arms trembling as they poured all their might into the struggle.

"Weak, am I?" Moonchild snarled, glaring past the venom-green eyes of the Stand and into his other self's eyes. "That's what you've always believed, what _I_ always believed. But who spent their life shut away from the world? Who abandoned his humanity to wall himself off, to cower in the corner, wrapped up in a blanket?! All this time I looked up to you, sought your strength, but all I could feel ever was fear and pain! Because that's all you are, fear and pain and misery!"

"I'll show you true pain!" King Crimson bellowed.

The leapt up and planted both feet on the demon's chest and kicked out, violently. Moonchild's grip broke and he was sent smashing into the opposite side of the room as King Crimson righted himself mid-air, leaping off the wall and propelling himself forward at speed.

"I'll put you in your place, Doppio!"

Moonchild braced, blocking a savage right hook while on the back-foot, the force of the blow sending him crashing through the wall, tumbling into the hallway. King Crimson followed a second later, clawing a gouge in the floor where Moonchild's head had been a second earlier, the demon scrambled along the carpeted floor as his human self pursued.

"Ungrateful whelp!" King Crimson roared, loosing a ferocious axe-kick, cratering the floor as Moonchild just barely rolled out of the way. "After all I've done for you! Who was it who took initiative? Who found the arrows? Who set us up to rule together? Me! I erased our past! I ensured our future! I would have brought the world to heel were it not for you!"

Moonchild shot to his feet and jabbed at King Crimson's head. "You ruined my life!"

"Our life was ruined the second we were born, Doppio!" King Crimson said, deflecting the punch and countering with snap-punch to the jaw, sending Moonchild stumbling back.

"I tried to tear out the weed of our existence, root and stem, that we might start anew! Were it not for your wretched sentiment, I would have succeeded!"

King Crimson grabbed the dazed demon and smashed his head into solid wood support beam, shattering it. He wrenched Moonchild's head back, green blood pouring down his dazed, agonized face.

King Crimson snarled and smashed Moonchild's face back into the tangle of splinters "Our mother!"

Smash.

"Our father!"

Smash.

"All who knew us!"

Smash.

"One by one I exterminated our history! One by one I conquered our past! Were it not for you staying my hand, I would have eliminated that wretched woman and ripped the accursed girl out of her belly!"

He wound back, preparing to pulp the weakling's skull against the green, bloody splinters of the support beam. Moonchild's eyes snapped open, wide and glowing.

His arms shot out, bracing against the wall, his bloody face stopping just short of the remains of the beam. "D-Donatella… Donatella, Trish, _cara mia_ …"

"What?!" King Crimson said. "What is this strength?"

"My mother!" Moonchild roared, growing slightly taller.

He whirled about, his speed unbelievable as his fist smashed into King Crimson's cheek, sending him reeling backwards.

"My father!" Moonchild shot up a foot in height, his loose clothes filling out as he grew. He loosed another, crushing blow to the dazed Stand, sending him flying across the hall, splintering the opposite support beam.

"My hometown! Everyone I ever knew!"

Moonchild unleashed a rush of punches into the King Crimson's body, cracks spidered out across the beam and plaster of the walls as the pummeling intensified. The stand flickered and evaporated, revealing a stunned, battered Diavolo. He stooped forward, about to topple over when a huge hand wrapped around his throat, hauling him bodily into the air and slamming him against the wall.

Moonchild eyes glowed with fury, his massive frame towering over the beaten man despite Diavolo's feet not touching the ground, his mouth a gnashing rictus of stark white shark teeth. "My life with Donatella! The father I could have been to Trish! I could have been happy! You saved nothing! You took everything from me!"

"G-Get off of me!" Diavolo cried, lashing out with King Crimson.

Moonchild snatched the fist and squeezed, the bones in his hand grinding together painfully. King Crimson bit back a scream and struck out again, Moonchild's hand snapped from his neck and grabbed the desperate fist, holding both tight. Moonchild effortlessly spread King Crimson's arms wide, pinning him to the wall. The Stand struggled like a kitten, snarling and hissing vitriol. Moonchild roared in his face and, like ash in a stiff breeze, King Crimson evaporated, revealing the pale, terrified visage of Diavolo, screwed up in a rictus of terror, his eyes huge a wild. In the grasp of the much larger demon, he looked like a tiny, terrified child.

"That's you." Moonchild sneered, pulling his face away from the cowering man. "That's all you've ever been, a scared, hurt little boy lashing out at the world, desperate to feel safe. Secure. Well, I'm done being scared. I'm done hiding. I have friends, I've fallen in love, I have people who love and care for me. You always wanted to keep us safe, to protect us. Well, I'm safe, now, so I don't need you anymore."

With that he dropped the trembling human to the floor. Diavolo collapsed to his knees, rubbing his bruised, battered hands, looking up at the sea-demon towering over him.

"I'm done letting what was dictate what will be," Moonchild said, turning away from him and heading off down the debris-strewn hall, glancing back over his muscular shoulder. "I came here to move on with my life, but I can't do that without you. I can't force you to stay, but I can tell you this: whether you're here or on earth, you'll never find what you seek, what you crave. The only way to defeat our past is to put it behind us. If you want, I can help you."

"You'll… help me?" Diavolo muttered, his voice a hoarse whisper. "After all that, you'd help me?"

Moonchild turned around and smiled warmly, extending his hand. "You can't help anyone if you can't help yourself."

Diavolo looked down at his hands, bruised, bloody. He looked up at Moonchild, at the warm, genuine sentiment in his fuchsia eyes. His hands balled into fists, his face twisting into a sneer. "Sentimental trash! King Crimson!"

Time stripped away, crumbled, disintegrated, the bones of fate laid bare as King Crimson's power thrummed. Moonchild stepped back, eyes wide as Diavolo snuck around him, unbound by fate. The hulking demon that was his lesser half braced and blocked the strikes he would have made in the instants he had obliterated. The fool had let his guard down, hadn't been using Epitaph, he was just as blind as the rest of these sheep!

"That you thought for a second I would take this revolting charity proves you were never worthy to rule at my side. If only I could have excised your weakness from me and smothered it once and for all. Shattering your skull and escaping will have to suffice, I suppose. Goodbye, Doppio."

Time filled back in, the erased instant gone into the ephemeral void. Moonchild blinked in surprise.

"Perish, you craven detritus!" King Crimson bellowed, his hand slashing down onto his head in a powerful chop.

Moonchild wove out of the way, his expression that of tired resignation. "Disappointing."

"What?!" King Crimson roared as he over-shot, doubling back and loosing another powerful strike. "Die!"

"I don't even need Epitaph," Moonchild said, sidestepping the punch, which obliterated the heavy oak support beam. "Predictable and vicious, like an insect."

King Crimson erased time once more, leaping after Moonchild as he walked backwards across the hall, his arms crossed and his expression bored. He was going to weave in behind him and tear out his spine! Within the erased time, Moonchild's eyes blinked and followed him, a wry smirk spreading across his face.

"Impossible!" King Crimson sputtered, losing his grip on the flow of time.

"Tedious, really," Moonchild said.

King Crimson growled and swiped at his head, fingers hooked and ready to rend flesh from bone. Moonchild ducked out of the way again, wood splinters exploded into the air as King Crimson overextended. Moonchild's arm streaked out, smashing into King Crimson's gut, sending the Stand and its user skidding backwards.

"Stop fighting!" Moonchild said, his hands out in front of him. "With Epitaph I can see every move you'll make, your ability is useless against me. You can't win! Let me help you."

"I can't lose!" King Crimson screamed, smashing his fists into the floor, shaking the very hotel. "Not to a peon like you! _I can't!_ "

Something flickered behind Moonchild's eyes, which snapped open in horror. "Diavolo! Look out, the ceiling!"

The smashed supports groaned and buckled, the ceiling began to sag. King Crimson smashed the floor again in a blind rage, sending vibrations surging through the structure.

"Diavolo!"

"DIE, DOPPIO!" He roared, sprinting forward.

The roof gave way with a thundering crash, heavy wooden beams and plaster succumbed to gravity. Diavolo glanced up, his eyes wide and terrified. "Wh–?"  
Hundreds of kilograms of debris crashed down on the figure, smashing him into the ground before he could react. Moonchild stepped forward, his hands clasped to his mouth, his eyes wide. "No…"

"Moonchild!" Came a voice down the hall, it was Charlie.

Her and the rest of the staff ran down the hall, Octavia rushing up to him and pulling him into an embrace.

"Where is he?" Charlie said, looking around. "Where's Diavolo?"

Moonchild pointed to the pile of debris. "I should have looked further ahead. I should have…"

"It's okay, Moonie," Octavia said into his ear. "You did all you could for him."

"I'm so sorry, Moonchild," Charlie said. "The hardest part about redemption is that while everyone can be helped, not everyone will let themselves be helped. He was… he was too far gone."

"Look!"

From the debris rose a mist, dark and greasy, like smoke from a burning tire. It pulsed and undulated for a moment before rushing forward. Moonchild pushed Octavia out of the way just before it encased him. Black, heavy tendrils wove into his mouth and nostrils, seeping into his eyes and ears. Moonchild screamed, his eyes flickering fuchsia and green. He hissed and grabbed his head, doubling over. The sea-demon growled and moaned as his body swelled, grew, slipping into his unleashed form before shrinking back down to the slight, effeminate frame of his former self, his skin flickering between smooth and rubbery and covered in armored scales.

"He's hulking out!" Vaggie cried.

"Alastor!" Charlie said, turning to the sitting Radio Demon. "Now would be a good time for a sedative, don't you think?"

"No!" Moonchild bellowed in his unleashed form, his voice deep and gravelly. "I can do this! He's trying to take control but… I! Won't! Let you!"

With a final effort, Moonchild shrank down into his true self, sweat beading on his forehead. Moonchild stood, panting, staring at his hands. Charlie and the rest slowly made their way over, very pointedly keeping their distance.

"Moonie?" Charlie ventured. "Is it still you?"

"Yes…" Moonchild said, turning to them, a tired, wondrous smile on his face. "For the first time… I'm really me."

"Is he… gone?" Husk said, looking down at the body on the floor. "Like, for good?"

Moonchild shook his head, tapping his temple. "He's still up here, but I've got him under control. He's sleeping now."

"Are you okay?" Octavia said. "It can't be nice to have _that_ asshole in your head."

"Understatement of the century, Via," Moonchild said, smiling wanly. "At least he can't hurt anyone in here."

"So…" Angel said, kicking the rubble. "What now?"

All heads turned to Charlie who, after some contemplation, offered a bashful smile. "…Hobby swap?"

The others all groaned and shook their heads, grumbling. Moonchild knelt next to the pile of debris that presently held his earthly remains, the still-warm body of someone who'd died decades ago. In truth, he died decades before the remains of his soul passed from the mortal plane. Who was he? Who could he have been? Moonchild suddenly felt a surge of guilt. What right did he have to be outraged for what had been taken from him? Who was he to claim ownership of this man's life? A fragment, a facet, a shard of a man broken by suffering. A man who deserved better.

"Octavia…" Moonchild said, turning to her. "I need a portal to Earth."

Octavia saw the look on his face and nodded. "Have anywhere in mind?"

He nodded. "My hometown."

* * *

His navigational skills were a touch rusty, but Moonchild had surprised himself with how much he remembered from his former self's ill-fated interest in becoming a sailor. The air was fresh and the sky was blue, with star white cumulous clouds drifting lazily overhead on the Mediterranean breeze. The wind rolled over the grassy knoll on which the ruins of the old church sat, untouched by the surrounding villagers. The site was considered cursed, haunted by whatever spirit malevolent enough to destroy a church. A pair of tall, oddly dressed young people stood at among the largely overgrown remains of the church graveyard, still partially maintained by those with relatives interred there. The young man, a robust, pink-haired lad who looked scarcely older than 20 despite his build, and beside him was a beautiful, statuesque young woman with dark hair and bright crimson eyes. In his arms was a carefully stitched bundle of fabric. Had anyone been watching, there would have been no mistaking a human corpse. He set it down next to a humble gravestone, a priest's grave.

"This place makes me itch," Octavia muttered. "There's still a little holiness about."

"He was a good man, my father," Moonchild said, gazing at the grave. "Kind and trusting. I know it's unreasonable to hold him responsible for what happened, but still some part of me does."

Octavia set a hand on his shoulder. "Some part of him, you mean?"

Moonchild shook his head, but then shrugged. "Both? I can't start making distinctions like that, not if I want to get better. We're the same soul, I have to start owning up to what he's done. Maybe this will help?"

"You really think so?"

Moonchild sighed and shook his head. "No idea. But he deserves this, regardless. The person we were, he was a victim, an innocent, and I'm sure he would have wanted to be buried next to his father."

His vast strength made digging the hole easy, but Moonchild still took care to not disturb the Priest's grave too much. His fingers burned as he clawed through consecrated ground, curling up the bundled body and setting it in the ad hoc grave. He patted the earth down with blistered hands, standing solemnly before the grave. Octavia said nothing, instead she looped an arm around his waist, pulling herself close. Moonchild wrapped an arm around her and returned the embrace.

"Paying respects to Priest Naso, yeah?" A voice said from behind.

The two started and turned around to see an older man with a bicycle, watching them from behind the dilapidated perimeter wall. He smiled at them, thinking ' _Gracious, what a pair of lookers! And so young… not every day you see teenagers paying such somber respects, not nowadays, anyway._ '

"Er… yes," said Moonchild, hiding his hands behind his back. "He was, uh, family."

"A great uncle or some-such, I take it?"

"Something like that."

"I was a lad when he ran this parish," the old man sighed and scratched under his cap. "He was a good man, Priest Naso, kind and gentle, generous and patient as a saint. Very involved in his community, yessir. Damn shame what happened to him. Damn shame. Him and his son."

The young man perked at this. "His son? I understood he never married."

"Oh, the boy was adopted. I knew him, you know. Good kid, quiet, but gentle as a lamb. What was his name? Solli-Sallido… eh, lost it. Both died in that horrible fire."

"Yes," Moonchild said. "I heard. Terrible, terrible tragedy."

"The town never quite bounced back from that one, no sir," He said, gesturing at the church. "Rumor has it, it was the devil's work, the fire, all the people who died. It all started here, and after that people just, well, moved away. Devil's work, devil's touch."

"Well, they weren't wrong," Moonchild said under his breath, before nodding at the man. "Thank you for the kind words. It means a lot."

"Of course," said the old man, doffing his cap. "You and the beautiful young miss have yourselves a wonderful day."

"Thank you," she said, nodding at him. "And you. Your country is beautiful."

"Oh, what a lovely accent!" He said, laughing as a heady blush burning in his cheeks. "Yet you speak so well! Your boyfriend is a lucky man, to have such a talented, beautiful young lady to hold!"

"Yes, I am," Moonchild said, smiling. "We best be off. Have a good day, sir."

"And you, lad," he said, putting his cap back on.

He watched the two make their way out of the graveyard, walking over the knoll above the bones of the church. He adjusted his hat and no sooner than he had taken his eyes off them, the couple were gone.

' _What nice young people,_ ' he thought to himself as he took off on his bike. ' _I wish them the best._ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, I think this one sits with me a little better. Serves me right for putting a schedule ahead of quality content.


End file.
